


The Smell of Smoke and Taste of Whiskey

by Militem (ava_militem)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Doppelganger, Emotional Baggage, Headaches & Migraines, Heavy Angst, I Don't Even Know, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Pro-Brotherhood of Steel, Redemption, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Trying to get over your ex, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10979892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_militem/pseuds/Militem
Summary: The hero who rushes into the Cambridge Police Station is not who Paladin Danse is expecting, and his appearance stirs feelings the Paladin has long been trying to bury. Will this stranger help Danse move on with his life, or will he only make his longing worse?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike everything else I have written, I have been working on this for a very long time and in an entirely different style. Any feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading. I am self-editing so please point out any errors.  
> Warnings: There will be injuries, a lot of depressing emotions. This fic jumps in with both feet.

A bird. The spot on the ceiling looked like a bird in flight. One brownish stain swept off to the right, resembling the wings of the insignia burned into his mind, while another was rounded, ending in a tip to resemble the head and body. He stared at it every night, wishing the shape would take form and fly and steal away his haunting dreams.

Every night, every single night, he dreamt the same dream of the dark brown hair, carefully cut and cascading gently to the right, of weaving his fingers through it, making it wild and untamed. Of the short beard he had buried his mouth in, inhaled the scent of, that lined the chiseled jaw he had pressed innumerable kisses along, kisses he trailed down his lover's nape and across broad shoulders. Of the scar, deep and haunting, the scar that still pains him day upon day, that he touched tenderly every night. Of the eyes that watched, blue as the sky, fighting to stay open against his touch, filled with longing, intimacy, love. Of the body, toned and hard, lines he had traced with lips, digits, and tongue, a body he's made writhe at the behest of his own touch, taken in and unraveled.

His jumpsuit is undone before he can think straight, his memory eliciting a response from his body that clouds his judgment and makes him quiver, so he teases and strokes. He remembers the sounds his lover utters, the whispers in his ear, the sound of his name on their lips, their bodies entwined, a mess, hot skin against hot skin. He can almost remember their scent, like smoke and whiskey, and his movements become impatient and erratic.

He turns away from the world, into the wall and the smell of earth, ignoring the sounds outside his mind.

He whispers their name, uncaring if the others can hear him in the other room.

"Arthur..."

If only he could whisper back, his relief would be complete.

He can remember Arthur's lips on him, tasting him, tantalizing him. He remembers the way Arthur looks when he takes all of him, their eyes locking. Arthur's body always racks at his touch and the sweat that coats his skin gleams in the low light of his room. He can see Arthur, see his toned body shiver, his muscles contract involuntarily, see him unraveling as he slowly brings him closer to spending himself. He tries to remember the way Arthur says his name, the way he edges himself closer to total collapse with just his voice. He remembers the sound he so desperately longs for. His name.

 _Danse_.

The distant call from his mind makes Danse's body clench and release, hot and slick in his hand. He feels guilty, even though he has done this innumerable times in the past months, but what's done is done. His breathing slows as he coaxes the last few urges out of himself.

"Danse!"

Haylen is yelling for him, tearing him away from his momentary bliss. He grabs a rag and barely has time to clean up in his haste to re-buckle and close his suit. Before Haylen can round the corner, Danse is safely hidden away in his power armor. Trapped with his shame.

"What is it, Scribe?" Danse says, worrying his voice echoes the irritation he feels.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but there is a massive ghoul horde attacking the building. It's only a matter of time before they break in, Knight Rhys and Knight Keane are attempting to hold them off..."

Danse could hear the fear in her voice. He wanted to tell her not to worry, but he had said the same thing to Haylen before Warwick and the others had died. Damn this reconnaissance to hell and take these ferals with it!

"Let’s get moving."

The Paladin chastises himself as he picks up his laser rifle. He tells himself that was careless, clumsy, a cautionary tale for the future as long as he makes it through the night. A significant part of him hopes he won't, hopes to die fighting and take a hundred ghouls with him. He could scuttle his power core, save the comrades he has left in the old police station with one final sacrifice. Would Arthur even miss him? Would the Elder mourn the loss of a Paladin, Maxson a friend, or Arthur a love?

_Arthur doesn't love you._

His mind tells him Arthur is done with him, that was why he was here, in the Commonwealth. The words still ring clear as day when he is awake, when he patrols, when he guards, and when he tries to sleep. This was his hell, the ghouls, super mutants and Raiders were slowly taking from him what few friends he had left in life, but Arthur's final words were the true torturers.

_I can't love you, Danse._

Danse wonders if Arthur sent him here to die so the Elder could spare himself the torture of them living apart. No, that would be too poetic for Arthur Maxson. A lover sent away to die was not Arthur's way. As Paladin Danse he was the best, the most trusted and loyal friend to the Elder. That is why he must persist, as the Paladin, for the Brotherhood of Steel and Elder Maxson.

The Brotherhood would prevail, as they always have and always will; as he always has and always will. Valor becomes him as he marches into the fray, a rallying call and a wave of red. Ghoul bodies burn hot from laser fire, their blood boiling as their corpses steam and smoke, the fog of war turning orange as the sun rises above the crumbling ruins and the ancient rubble.

Danse hears the scream before he sees Keane fall, overwhelmed by the rotting monsters, and Rhys nearly follows. Danse charges, firing wildly to protect his remaining friends. He know's death is finite, but if he scuttles the core, Rhys and Haylen will be safe.

"Haylen, get Rhys inside now!" He commands, and she obeys, dragging her wounded comrade through the doors.

Danse begins the initiation protocol to eject the core and scuttle the suit, to burn away the filth from this wretched place once and for all.

There is a silent apology made as he falls, the hoard overwhelming him, and he longs to see Arthur's face one last time. Closing his eyes he thinks of Arthur's steel blue eyes, and how they crinkled at the corners when Danse made him smile.

His minds begins playing tricks as the fusion core begins it's countdown, in 20 seconds he knows this will all be over. He hears shouting, pleading. The gunfire draws him out of his trance-like state, a voice yelling, and the thunderous pounding of something monstrous. The ferals are thrown from him as his savior cuts down the irradiated beings one shotgun blast at a time.

"Get up!"

The voice is commanding, familiar even, crackling through the speaker. Danse deactivates the core ejection, the sacrifice no longer needed. He picks up his weapon and wills himself to live, to fight and survive. He feels the cry in his chest as victory nears and the monsters finally fall for good.

He turns to his savior, the armor is pre-war, rusted and sullied by battle and age, beaten and broken and repaired tenfold. The model is not Brotherhood, this savior is not a brother, but he is thankful to be alive.

"Thank you for the assistance civilian." Danse states formally, pushing away the fear from his near death only moments ago, "Forgive my hesitation, but what brought you here?"

There is a hiss, a release of the suit as the soldier takes off the helmet.

Danse can't keep his mouth closed as he stares at the man in front of him. The eyes searching him are steel blue, hooded by the thick brow fused into a permanent scowl, the nose prominent, the lips full, the beard short and shaved, coating his strong jaw and nearly touching his cheekbones, the right of which bears the long scar.

"Arthur?" He says in utter disbelief, stumbling forwards and hugging his love in a too tight manner.

In the end, it was Arthur who saved him, that pulled him from the brink.

"Aren't we friendly here," Arthur says lightly.

Danse's mind screams to him, tells him to look again and he recoils away. In the end, it was the voice that reveals the truth, though it is strong and deep, there is none of the confidence of Arthur Maxson in it. All at once Danse feels foolish and betrayed.

"Pest exterminator, heard you had a ghoul problem and needed assistance." The man's smile all too much like Arthur's, "How do you know my middle name?"

Danse yearns to talk to the man as Arthur, but knows he is nothing more than a unmilitarized doppelganger, "You...remind me of an old friend, his name is Arthur. I apologize, I am Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel"

Does he know this already? The lines between memory and reality are blurred causing Danse to frown deeply as he tries to figure out the man in front of him. He could be a synth, send to infiltrate the Brotherhood, but why make it look like Arthur, who is hundreds of miles away?

The man sticks his hand out, a gesture few wastelanders know, "I'm Theodore Maxson, Theo for short. Nice to meet you, Paladin Danse. "

_Maxson?_

Like his resolve, Danse's legs go weak at the sound of his name, and he takes the other man's metal-clad hand, but only out of habit.

"Should we...go inside?" Theo suggests cocking his head towards to doors.

Danse nods and leads the way. Inside, he is relieved to see Rhys and Haylen as awestruck and confused as he was, both staring at Theo in disbelief. They look to their Paladin for guidance only to find none.

In the end, it is Theo who anchors them, "You guys acts like you've seen a ghost."


	2. Chapter 2

Theo proves himself to be an adept soldier, hardworking and instantly loyal to the Brotherhood and their cause. His past is as bizarre as his appearance, a pre-war survivor frozen in a Vault he was never supposed to be in. Theo had been sent to Boston by none other than Roger Maxson to retrieve their sister, Alice, and her young son, Shaun. The boy's father had been in California and likely did not survive the initial attack of the great war, while in Boston Theo had rushed Alice and Shaun to the Vault. Shaun was stolen sometime before Theo awoke. Alice had survived and alongside a few neighbors and they were trying to rebuilding their community. Theo, the only surviving military man, offered to find Shaun, and as fate would have it, his past and future crossed.

Theodore Maxson, brother to the great Roger Maxson, and distant uncle to the sole surviving Arthur Maxson. Theo was astonished what his brother had achieved, at the legacy he now witnessed and was humbled by the Brotherhood's greatness. Danse found himself lost in Theo's stories, drawn in by his uncannily similar voice and demeanor to Arthur, hanging onto every word he spoke.

"Roger was a good man and I am glad to see his altruism persisted beyond the war. He was emotional after his service and our father often worried the stress of the army would tear him apart. He moved him to Mariposa to unburden him." Theo reminisced.

Theo is military, his mannerisms all too familiar to Danse who is left thinking of Arthur far too often in his presence. Danse frequently finds himself staring at Theo's lips, longing to kiss them, to pull the bottom with his teeth and make him call out another man's name. Theo smiles more freely than Arthur, relaxation comes more naturally, and there are small features that set him apart. His brow is not as heavy, his nose slightly crooked when you look straight on, the scar is not as deep and damaging, and there is a touch of green in his eyes.

"Paladin Danse?" 

Theo catches him once again, and Danse can't hide the red that touched his ears and cheeks. He mutters an apology which draws another smile out of Theo, one that reaches his eyes, and the Paladin needs to excuse himself.

Danse needs to be alone, needs to centre and refocus, drive Arthur from his mind. Haylen offers a welcome distraction, uncovering information about a deep range transmitter in the nearby ArcJet facility. He suits up, helmet to recalibrated legs, and decided to retrieve the technology solo, leaving out the back bay.

Theo doesn't reveal himself until outside of ArcJet, claiming he saw Danse leave and wanted to watch the Paladin's back. Danse can't deny the company, not when it fills out the standard orange Brotherhood uniform as well as Theo does and carries himself like a soldier. Working alongside Theo resurfaces more memories of Arthur, and Danse reminds himself that Theo and Arthur are both military men, trained and hardened, skilled and experienced. 

Against the synths is where Theo makes his first real mistake; forgetting they are artificial, he shoots an arm off, expecting it to fall, and instead, the construct charged forwards, pinning Theo against the wall and knocking the gun from his hand.

Danse's imagination takes hold, envisioning Arthur at the mercy of the synth attacker. He tears the construct off of Theo and rips the synth's robotic head off in one swift motion.

"What are these things?" Theo asked breathlessly, "They don't die."

Theo's chest is heaving, his hair a mess from his helmet being knocked off, and his face is flushed. The Paladin is flustered, his mind bombarding him with flashbacks of Arthur sprawled beneath him, the same red face and heaving chest. Decorum saves him from doing something inappropriate and foolish as Danse recites what he knows about synths. Theo listens and follows him through the dilapidated facility and eventually, they find themselves in the test hangar of ArcJet. 

There is an unsettling silence in the hangar, and Danse sends Theo ahead to restore power to the facility as he patrols. Metal on metal draws his attention and before he can level his gun there are half a dozen synths firing at him. Most of the lasers miss, a few scorching his power armor. Two synths replace every one he guns down and before long he is once again overwhelmed by his enemies. The suit screams as the damage builds and the plates begin to feel hot against his flight suit. 

The heat is overwhelming causing Danse to fall to the floor as the synths around him burn, scorched piles of ash where seconds ago there were dozens of the humanoid robots. His body is screaming now, the heat making him lightheaded as his skin begins to blister.

There is yelling, but Danse can't make out what or where it is coming from. The suit hisses as Danse is ejected and falls backward into Arthur's arms, and they both collapse. He is overheated, sweating profusely and his skin is covered in burns and blisters. Arthur cradles him in his arms and Danse realizes just how much he missed the younger man.

"Danse!" He yells, shaking the larger man and cursing under his breath.

"...I'm fine Arthur...I just..."

Danse reached up, twisting his fingers in Arthur's beard before reaching around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Arthur's eyes widen in shock before closing. His lips part and Danse slips his tongue into his lover's mouth, tasting him. The taste is different, clean with a hint of mutfruit, not the cigar smoke-tinged saliva Danse remembers.

A pain, sharp and hot in his side. He breaks away and looks into Arthur's eyes.

No. Not Arthur Maxson.

Theo Maxson's green-tinged blue irises stare at him and there is an empty stimpak in his hand. Shame floods him as the pain washes away and he is able to compose himself. He curses himself; foolish, weak, desperate! That is not how a Brotherhood soldier acts!

Theo grins, but there is a tilt to his head Danse doesn't like, "I thought you were overly friendly with me..."

The Arthur doppelganger brushed Danse's cheek tenderly, running a thumb over his bottom lip, before standing and offering Danse his hand. Though Danse takes the man's hand, he’s left awestruck from the memory of Theo's thumb on his lip.

Danse's self-criticism is harsh as he stiffens both body and resolve, his face hardening.

"Let's get that part and return to Cambridge." He commands but is unsure if the order is meant for himself or Theo as the power armor closes around him once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Haylen confirms the signal is amplified and she has made contact with the Prydwyn. The magnificent ship is on her way, sailing through irradiated skies. Danse knows if the Prydwyn is on route so too is Elder Maxson.

_ Arthur _ .

He fights the tight feeling in his chest as he hunches over the terminal, scowls to cast away the sting in his eyes. His adoration for Arthur Maxson is bone deep. As a young man, Danse had mentored Squire Arthur Maxson, taught him how to shoot straight, mod weapons and clean power armor. You never had to teach him something twice as he learned quickly. Even at a young age, he was intelligent, curious. 

Danse remembered the day he left, following Cutler and their brothers and sisters, becoming the Outcasts. Arthur had cried, and Danse promised him he'd return one day.  Preservation of technology. Destruction of abominations. Though he fought valiantly and performed admirably, Danse felt he had betrayed Elder Lyons and the Brotherhood of Steel.

Word of the Lyons' deaths spread, along with turmoil, discord, and betrayal within the Brotherhood. The Outcasts ranks grew steadily over the years as more defected, seeking stability and the Brotherhood's true purpose. Word of a new Elder became a joke, a matter the soldiers would bet on, see how long this one would last. Until the day Elder Maxson sought to parlay with the Outcasts.

Elder Maxson, a boy barely a man, had captured the hearts of the Brotherhood of Steel and in a short amount of time had restored a sense of greatness and valor to the omnipresent faction. He convinced the Outcasts to return, and the Brotherhood was whole once more.

Danse remembered the quiet boy he had trained, knowing early on that silence meant nothing in regards to Arthur Maxson. He would read, watched, learn, and in very little time master whatever he had been taught. Topics from weapons and armor, to battle strategies, diplomacy, espionage and even a few hobbies; latin, lore, and tales of old. The squire filled with promise, bound to steel.

The first time Danse had seen Elder Arthur Maxson, standing in the Citadel's courtyard was an unforgettable moment. As a boy he had been healthy but small, short and skinny for his age. In the seven or so years that had passed, the Elder had grown, he was considerably taller and had a bit of bulk to him. His facial hair grew evenly but he kept it short and neat, and he had a large scar on the right side of his young face that hadn't been there before. Arthur went to great lengths to hide the flaws his teenaged body exhibited, caring for himself body and mind, and proudly presented himself as Elder Maxson.

And the Elder remembered Paladin Danse, greeting him warmly, like an old friend. Danse quickly regained the young Elder's trust and within a year Danse was stationed on the Prydwyn. Paladin Danse, right-hand-man of Elder Arthur Maxson, infallibly loyal and strong as steel. If the Elder needed something accomplished swiftly and accurately the mission fell to Paladin Danse. There was no time Danse could remember being more proud of himself.

Then Cutler disappeared, and what Danse found in Cutler's place changed him forever.

His team had returned from the mission on the Elder's 18 th birthday. Such events were never celebrated, but Danse would never forget that night.

Arthur, without the veil of the Elder, had come to his door, a bottle of bourbon in hand, offering comfort and companionship. He listened as Danse slowly unwound and broke down, and helped his friend cope. Danse confided Cutler had been more than a friend, had been a lover, but they had fought frequently recently and Danse never had a chance to say goodbye. After the bourbon was gone, Arthur confided he felt strongly of Danse.

Arthur kissed Danse that night for the first time. The spark that lit the fire, that had led to secret and stolen kisses down abandoned hallways, old offices, under steps, and eventually passionate moments alone in Arthur's quarters.  Always Arthur's. 

As Danse stared at the screen in front of him blankly he remembered Arthur's body, lean and hard, unraveling at his touch. Danse sighed softly remembering the soft noises Arthur made after they came together, how warm his body was against his.

Arthur was Elder Maxson, the leader of the Brotherhood. Elder Arthur Maxson built a legacy equal to his ancient predecessor, Roger Maxson, and he had a duty to the Brotherhood that Danse could not fulfil. For honor and glory, for the Brotherhood, he must forget and forgive and prepare to face Elder Maxson.

"Excuse me, Paladin Danse?"

Despite the voice of Arthur, Theo's formal greeting gives him away and Danse is mentally able to separate Theo and Arthur, subordinate and commander. The red creeping up the paladin's neck is thankfully hidden by his collar.

Theo smiles, a full smile, something Arthur never does. His teeth are almost perfect aside from pointed canines and one incisor stood out slightly from the other. In this moment Danse sees how very different Theo and Arthur are. Arthur seldom smiled, his smile was lopsided from the deathclaw scar and he was missing his first molar on the top right side.

"Earth to Paladin?" 

"Apologies, what can I do for you Initiate?" Danse stammers.

Theo looks over his shoulder and moves to sit on the edge of Danse's table.

"I wanted to talk about the other day, at ArcJet." The initiate says and Danse can feel the red creeping into his face and ears, "I take it you and the Elder are...close?

"And don't tell me it's a professional relationship unless it's now accustomed to kiss your superiors, Paladin."

The way Theo tilts his head, just like Arthur, wears down Danse's walls, erodes them away like a sandy bank against the ocean tide.

"That is hardly your business, Initiate." Danse state flatly, trying to ignore the piercing blue of Theo's eyes.

"Says the man who kissed me so passionately I blushed." Theo replies, his voice lowered to match his gaze.

Danse stands as the heat spreads down his body, a scowl deep enough to become permanent on his face.

"There is nothing between Elder Maxson and I." Danse says firmly.

The look on Theo's face is deceptive, one of seduction and sympathy, "Paladin, when I was in the army it was customary to talk to a doctor regarding mental strain. You've been in the Commonwealth for almost a year, away from your brothers and sisters, your... commanding officer... and I can tell it's wearing you down."

Theo slips off the table, edging towards Danse, like a cat after a mouse. 

"I can be whoever you want me to be, whoever you need to talk to..."

Theo's words combined with the way he says them leave Danse speechless, his mind fumbling for any word aside from the one he does not want to say. A whisper of a name. His walls collapse, crumble away and before him he sees Arthur.

"I feel so alone..."

"I'm here for you, Danse..."

_ Lies _

Lies that can be dealt with later. 

_ I need you to be him... _

"Do you want this?" he asks, stepping closer to the Paladin.

"Yes"

His hands are on Danse, his fingers unbuckling the belts of his suit, his lips brushing against Danse's neck. The first kiss is slow, the soft sound of lips together followed by a sigh as Danse pulls him flush against his chest. The zipper descends slowly, with each tic worry, guilt and disgust diminish that much more.

The Paladin's suit is open, wiry hair pressed against the cold metal, skin on steel, warm hands against Danse's chest, pushing him against the old metal cabinets of the ancient captain's office. Lips part as tongues dart and taste, curiosity becomes emboldened, and before long there is heat, friction. 

A whisper in his ear, "What do you want?"

Danse's eyes are closed, he knows if he opens them the weak facade he has created will dissolve away. With subtle persuasion, he shrugs out of his suit, hands helping and pushing fabric below his hips, exposing his length, throbbing and needing the touch of another. There is a hum of approval, a comment made that Danse pays no heed to despite its familiarity.

Fingers trail through the hair on his chest, followed by lips, the combination leaving a trail of fire that blooms though Danse's body and elicits a low groan.

His touch is gentle despite the calluses on his hands, rough skin against satin, teasing and stroking towards Danse's tip. The hand retreats, so painfully yet deliciously slow that Danse fights the buck of his hips. His hands are so warm, caressing tenderly as if they were handling an idol. 

A mouth both hot and soft slides over his length, taking him in wholly before sucking gently. Touch-starved, Danse is barely able to stop himself from spilling prematurely, an embarrassingly short time he wants to last longer, but his hips jerk as the sensation of hot plasma courses through his veins. Heavy breath, his chest heaving, his knees failing him. His paramour reached up, applying pressure to the base, spurring him onwards, longer, deeper. 

The hair is soft as Danse weaves fingers through it, softer than the wiry beards that brushed against thighs, an all too familiar feeling drawing upon deep memories that only anger him. He feels primal, like an uncaged animal, rabid with an insatiable hunger and finally free. Danse is emotionless, feeding only on his baser instinct as strong hands grip his thighs as he forces and is forced faster towards release. 

When he looks down, teary, aqua-blue eyes set under a heavy brow are staring up at him, all at once the image, the sensation, the memories are too much, and angrily he pushes Theo off him. Danse turns towards the desk as a body presses against him from behind, strong arms reaching around and spurring him to his release. It comes as a wave of ecstasy and exhaustion, a physical relief he's not felt in over a year, and as the euphoric sensation fades there is anger, rage, and self-loathing left in its wake. 

"Leave." Danse says lowly, voice dripping with disgust.

"What, no thank you?" Theo answers, amused, wiping his hands on a rag.

"I said leave!" Danse seethes, frantically composing himself.

Theo gives him a wry smile as he departs. There is no quelling the boiling rage Danse now feels, a serpent coiling in his gut, spilling poison through his body. The damage is done, the debt is owed.

His T-60 power armor helmet takes the brunt of his overbearing anger as it is thrown across the room with such force large chunks of ancient plaster crumble to the floor. How has he allowed himself to become so fickle and weak in such a short time? He chastises himself silently, endlessly, cradles his head in his hands, breathing out a long shuddering breath that hopes will take with it his despair.

A Paladin is the pinnacle of the Brotherhood, a source of guidance and honor. Knights look up to them, scribes feel safe with them, squires want to be them. That is who Danse is. A Paladin. He mentally repeats the codex until he is calm, until he regains control of himself.

He goes to retrieve the helmet finding the headlamp shattered, the metal dented, and the visor cracked, damaged but not hopefully beyond prepare. 


	4. Chapter 4

If not for the rhythmic chop of the vertibird's blades, Danse swears the entire Prydwyn could hear his heart pounding in his chest. The beat is fast, not unlike a battle drum calling for war, but a war against whom? The Elder, Maxson, or Arthur, he does not know what man awaits him. What he does know is that he is loyal and will die for the Brotherhood at its leader.

The Prydwen is a thing of beauty, sleek and silver, art and science taken flight, and despite the man who waits on board, Danse is eager to step foot on her deck again. Theo is not as eager, an almost uncharacteristic uncertainty airs about him. He had asked for leave the day after their moment together, a leave Danse had happily granted, to allow time for his mind to prepare for what was to come. He was gone for two weeks and when he returned he was still as much himself as ever, but now it seems he is uncertain. Strange to see such a weak emotion from a man that exudes as much confidence as a deathclaw.

Danse laughs shortly at the shared feeling and wonders if it is for the same reason.

_What will I say?_

_What will he say?_

Anxiety sparks, setting his nerves on edge. He is now staring at Theo, watching the near clone of Arthur Maxson stare at the helmet he holds in his hands. Both suit and man are a relic of another time, the armor is T-45, the man a sergeant in the ancient military organization that founded the Brotherhood itself. Theo is staring back at him now, the nervousness gone, a coy smile playing his lips causing Danse to look away. There is no way to push down that much shame and Danse is filled with regret as the vertibird docks to the Prydwyn.

Power armor always sounds like distant thunder on the Prydwyn, her steel decking and solid form echoing the crashes of metal booted feet. Danse had not realized just how much he has missed that sound, or the purr of her engines, the wind blowing across the gantry. Each crashing step slowly builds anticipation, a nest of ants that threatens to burst forth as it creeps under his skin. His feet take him to the Observation deck, as if on autopilot, and as he walks through the door he nearly falters.

There he stands, the leader of the Brotherhood, a hero to guide them to victory. His beloved. Elder Arthur Maxson. Everything about him is living memory, from the brown battle coat that hugs his form a little too tightly, the slight cascade of his hair to the right, to the way his hands are clasp behind his back. He stands, staring out over the ruins of former Boston, surveying the Commonwealth.

_He is learning, formulating, calculating._

Their approach draws the Elder`s attention, he turns, and the sight of him causes Danse to become breathless as his heart hammers in his chest and Danse suppresses his desire and longing. Eyes icy blue, hooded by a thick brow, skin tanned nearly caramel in color and lips almost hidden by the thick, neat beard he has sported for nearly three years. Danse realizes that Arthur is not looking at him, his eyes travel beyond, to the doppelganger that trails him, causing a new feeling to bubble inside. Jealousy.

Danse wants to grab Arthur, shake him, scream at him, hit him.

_I'm gone for over a year and you don’t even look at me!_

But instead, he must be formal, exude the Brotherhood in word and action, so he salutes and speaks firmly, "Elder Maxson. I would like you to meet Initiate Theodore Maxson."

Unlike Danse, Arthur does not falter, even at the sight of his near perfect clone.

He offers his copy a hand, "It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Theodore."

Theo reaches and takes the Elders hand, "The honor is mine Elder, and please call me Theo. Only my father called me Theodore."

Elder Maxson finally looks to Danse, no emotion belies his features as he shortly commands, "Thank you Paladin, I would like to speak with Initiate Maxson alone. Please see Proctor Quinlan for your debriefing and Knight-Captain Cade for a full physical."

The paladin salutes full-heartedly, he cannot disobey the Elder, but all the same, he is left feeling hollow and alone, cast aside, even though he is surrounded by his brothers and sisters. Echoes from over a year ago ring through his head clear at the sound of his footsteps off the walls.

_I can't love you, Danse. I need to focus on the Brotherhood, fulfil my duty as Elder._

Duty guides him through the day as he is thoroughly debriefed and physically scrutinized. The recount is exhausting as he recalls each squad member's death, every setback he faced, one mistake after the other. Never has the Paladin answered so many questions in his life, each answer slowly draining him until he is truly empty. The physical from Cade is no better, he can't sleep at night, and his head pounds endlessly. Cade notes he's lost weight and recommends a voluntary reprieve from active duty, a suggestion that falls on deaf ears. Without work, Danse knows his tremulous emotional state will swallow him whole.

He leaves his power armor in the bay, seeking a hot meal and shower for the first time in what feels like eons. A brahmin steak cooked to perfection, served with tatos, corn, and carrots, food to fill his body that he consumes with such ravenous haste that he almost feels sick. A fellow paladin makes a jest on his behalf, something about him being an animal that Danse quickly stares down, drawing guarded glances from the others in the mess hall.

After a shower that fails to refresh him, Danse goes to his room, collapsing onto the bed, his mind too exhausted to taunt him further. He should have shaved to keep up an appearance that befits his rank, but he is simply too tired.

The sheets are too clean, smelling heavily of abraxo and Danse finds himself missing the smell of earth and sweat that he had become so akin to over the past year. His misses the smell of soil and ozone, the stale air of the police station, Haylen's wasteland cooking, Rhys's blend of roots and herbs he drank for his stomach, Warwick's off-tune humming, Keane's habit of stacking empty ammo boxes.

His sleep his fitful, wracked with images of those he has failed. A dark path leading to a darker place, inside lay the abominations. The smell of death, rotting, festering, burnt so deep into his memory he will never forget. Godless monstrosities, created by men that now create each other. Green skin, tinged dark brown, the eyes still a living color, bloodshot, begging, pleading for release from a living hell.

_Danse, please. Kill me._

The stinging pain of tears in his eyes, the feeling of impossibly dense flesh on his face, and the final kiss goodbye followed by the flash of red.

Danse bolt upright in his bed. His body is covered in cold sweat as his shaking hand touches his lips.

There is a quiet knock at the door, one not meant to rouse him, but Danse is awake and calms his nerves. He stands and moves to the door.

Theo stands waiting, his back to the door, wearing army fatigues and a white shirt. He turns at the sound of the door opening, a small, crooked smile playing his lips. Danse has no time for his games.

"What do you want, Theo? Not tonight." Danse sighs, annoyed, still bitter and ashamed.

The smile vanishes instantaneously, replaced by a scowl that could kill a deathclaw, that likely did.

"You can't tell us apart?" Arthur asks angrily, disbelieving.

Danse doesn't answer, can't answer. The first time he has spoken to Arthur personally in a year and he called him by another man's name. The way Arthur looks at him tells Danse he's being analyzed.

Arthur cocks his head to the side, "Have you... been with him?"

_It is not what you think!_

How could he know? Danse's momentary silence and the aversion of his eyes has Arthur turning away from him. He was always able to read Danse like an open book.

"Arthur, wait!" Danse calls, grabbing the Elder's arm and all at once Danse knows what he did wrong.

Calling him by name, the closeness, these are forbidden actions. Too intimate for a man as composed and careful as Arthur Maxson, as brief as the contact is.

Arthur says nothing, but his icy-blue eyes cut Danse to the core and he is immediately filled with guilt.

"I'm sorry."

The young Elder sighs, the crooked smile returning, his face friendly once more.

"There's nothing to apologize for. You have every right to pursue other relations. I'm your friend and I will support you."

"Thank you, sir."

Danse wishes Arthur had scolded him, thrown some form of decorum at him, hit him even for being with Theo, for being so weak. Arthur says nothing, will not say anything, it is not his duty to delegate relationships. Danse is a man with his own mind.

There is nothing, silence hangs in the air between them as they stare at one another.

"Would you like a drink?"

Danse smiles, relieved, "I would."

The bottle is set on the table, a long forgotten vintage of whiskey they both fancy. As the liquor flows, so do the words, stories from a year apart, starved of the company they provide for one another outside a bed, the simple companionship two friends may have. They share laughs, smiles, and before long the bottle is drained. Danse feels an overwhelming sense of adoration, respect, and loyalty towards Arthur, something he can mask but knows he can't fight. His friend, his love.

A few drinks and an hour gone has Danse's head lighter as he stands to leave. Arthur moves to the door, a simple gesture to wish his friend well, but sloppy hands cross, Arthur's on his, both men draw in a sharp breath and the world stills. Brown eyes lock on blue, and there is no denying the fire growing in Danse's core, heat that is reflected in Arthur's eyes. 

Danse leans in slowly, his eyes beginning to close and his lips parting slightly, tingling in anticipation. He waited a year for this and the thought alone stirs feelings he just didn't want to fight anymore. He lives and breathes Brotherhood, but all that be damned in this moment.

The first brush of Arthur's lips against his doesn't feel real, as if he was dreaming, but the second pushes that thought away as Arthur pushes his tongue into Danse's mouth. The tang of whiskey and smoke, this is how Arthur Maxson tastes. For nearly a year the need to kiss this man drove Danse to the brink of insanity. Arthur's tongue darts into his mouth and Danse can no longer deny his passion. His hands fall to Arthur's hips, sliding just under the hem of his shirt, thumbs tracing the hard lines of his abdomen and he moves to pull his love closer.

A firm hand on his chest stops him, freezes him, pushes him away and they break apart silently. The fire in Arthur`s eyes is gone leaving only cold resolve in it’s place. Danse is suddenly all too aware of himself, his proximity to the Elder, the embarrassment now burning through his body.

The Elder clears his throat.

"Goodnight, Paladin."


	5. Chapter 5

Even from this distance, Danse can see she is crying, her blue eyes sparkling, rimmed red. She is a small woman, granted none of the height or build of her brother, with chocolate brown hair that is cropped short. Theo has his arm around her as they speak to Arthur. There are words exchanged that cause Alice to nod her head in agreements and Theo shakes Arthur's hand before the Elder turns to walk towards his Paladin.

"They've agreed to return to the Airport with us," He states, though there is an edge of worry.

"Good. They would have died here," Danse replies.

There are over a dozen survivors barely edging out a living in the crumbled houses of the old suburb. If not for Theo and a good Samaritan, Preston Garvey, these people would likely died weeks ago. Though they did not talk for very long, Garvey has the makings for a good soldier having served with the now disbanded Minutemen for years. He will make a good Knight, Danse decides, looking over the new recruit as he gathers the people of old Sanctuary Hills. He cares for them, protects them, qualities the Brotherhood can use more of. Danse sees a dozen more mouths to feed and people to keep alive and hopes he can spare these people the same fate as his squad members.

"I want you to head this operation, work with Knight Maxson and Initiate Garvey," The Elder instructs, and Danse agrees.

Time apart from Arthur and more time with Theo, an arrangement he is less than thrilled to be in. For all his uncanny physical similarity to Arthur, Theo is not the same man as Arthur, and Danse does not want him, does not long for him. Their relationship is only to suppress an urge, scratch an itch. Theo is rash where Arthur is collected, unsure where the other is self-assured, a follower instead of a leader. 

Packing up a settlement full of people is daunting work and serves to keep Danse's mind occupied. He is in command, organizing the rabble as vertibirds are inbound, taking people away in groups of three. It is not until the last group is sent off with Initiate Garvey that Danse realizes his error, that he and Theo are alone until the Vertibird returns. A thought that causes the bottom of Danse's stomach to fall out as the sun sets and the distant sky turns a sickening shade of green. The call over his radio seconds later confirms he's stuck for the night.

A single, dilapidated home sheds light on the darkening ruins of Sanctuary Hills. The sound of music fills the air. Carelessness will get them killed and any sound after dark is a beacon for raiders, super mutants and the other filth that plagues Commonwealth. Danse thunders through the door, ready to face Theo, chastise him for behavior that endangers them both.

The words get caught in his throat as he rounds the corner. A blade to Theo's neck, slowly running up to his jaw as the hair is carefully shaved away. With the final pass finished, he catches Danse in the age-warped reflection of the mirror and smiles, wiping traces of shaving cream from his face with an old towel. The paladin's eyes wander over the angular jawline of Theo's face, the shallow scar on his cheek that gives him the uncanny appearance of Arthur. Even under the beard, he is almost indistinguishable from their Elder.

"Evening, Paladin," Theo greets formally.

"Turn down that racket before you attract any unfriendlies," Danse commands and Theo obeys, lowering the music’s volume.

Theo turns back to the mirror, tilting his head to and fro, ensuring his face is smooth as he wipes away any remaining soap. Danse moves to secure the perimeter, though with the heavy traffic just hours ago and incoming rad-storm the likelihood of an attack is low. He parks his power armor, leaving his protective shell in the hallway entrance to barricade any potential intruders route to the bedrooms they will sleep in for the night. He unpacks his bedroll, preferring to sleep on the ground rather than the dirty, sagging bed. As he begins to unpack his rations when there is a soft knock on wood.

"How's about I give you a shave, Paladin? You look like you need one," Theo say, leaning on the door frame.

Danse opens his mouth to reject the offer, but he knows his facial hair is too long, too disheveled for an officer of his standing. Theo offers him the armchair in the corner of the room before leaving, the ancient furniture creaking under Danse's bulk. Theo returns, a straight razor and shaving kit in hand. He lathers the shaving brush in the foamy soap leftover from his own shave and gently brushes a generous amount of soap onto Danse's face and jaw. The foam is cool, tingling slightly and smells of something Danse is unfamiliar with, spice and sweetness.

"Look up," Theo instructs calmly, spreading the soap down Danse's neck.

"People used to pay hundreds of dollars to have their face shaved. It was considered a luxury," Theo speaks nonchalantly, "For the longest time I refused to shave, but my partner loved it. So I learned to shave for him. I hadn't shaved since just before the Great War. Since I left California."

Theo carefully shaves away the hair on the right side of his face with slow precise strokes of the blade, his touch tender, almost lovingly gentle, which made Danse shift uncomfortably as his emotions stir.

"He stayed with my brother and Alice's husband when the bombs fell. He was a soldier, like us, a damn good man. I think it was hard for Roger to accept me with a man at first, but they got along well. Alice adored him. I suppose he was part of the early Brotherhood, probably someone like yourself, high up, a role-model. Or who knows, maybe he died when the bombs fell. Stretch your lip, Sir."

Danse compiled and Theo removed the hair of his mustache, wiping the blade on his rag before moving to the left side. Warm breath fanned against sensitive skin causing the hair on Danse's neck to prickle.

"Some days I can't think straight, I feel like this is all a dream I will wake up from at any second and he'll be lying next to me. His hand in mine. He was a good cook, loved to read. His name was Nate. Brown hair, brown eyes, build like a tank. Kind, caring, loyal..."

Theo's eyes met his own, and Danse could see tears forming in the corners, "Why are you telling me all this?"

Theo straightened, looking Danse over as he tenderly wiped the remaining shaving soap from Danse's face, "You're not the only one seeing ghosts."

The heart pounding in his throat cuts off any reply and Theo’s gaze drops as the rag slips from his hand falls to the floor. Danse was not alone is seeking comfort in a clone, an all too familiar warm body, a duplicate of a lover. What a cruel twist of fate that has brought them together. Danse stands, pulling Theo to him and in an instant, he is crying, clinging to Danse's uniform as his audible sobbing drowns out the music still drifting in from the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Preston so of course, he snuck into this story.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner with Alice, inside the shack she has managed to turn into a home and a meeting place for the survivors of the vault, but tonight she hosts Theo, Preston and Danse. The airport community is coping well with their new reality, and Alice has taken on the role of the overseer. She is the leader her brother is not, and despite the sorrow she harbors for her missing son, she has become important to the Brotherhood. Danse isn’t blind to the shy looks she gives to Knight Garvey, and his returned smiles as they eat in companionable silence.

Theo and Alice talk about a long dead holiday named after some ancient religious figurehead of romance and chocolate, from what Danse can tell. There had been an event the family had attended, a banquet with food, drink, and merriment. Alice had met her husband, Jake, there and Danse can see the sadness in her eyes as she speaks of their first dance together.

Theo huffs, “If Jake had listened to Roger and brought you with him, we would ...things would have been different.”

Theo stops talking and casts his eyes to his bowl when Alice’s eyes become glossy with tears. Preston acts immediately, rubbing her hand soothingly and she smiles in thanks.

Danse wants to chastise Theo for his lack of tact but the soldier clearly is shaken by his own words and resumes eating, instead opting to change the subject.

"Danse and I are headed to GreenTek tomorrow, right next to CIT," Theo states between bits of a savory mirelurk stew before turning to Danse, "Alice is...was head of their particle physics and meta-science department."

Alice blushes, humble in her silence, while Theo continues, "We're hoping to get a lead there, find something inside the ruins."

Alice raises her eyebrows and almost launches out of her chair, "If you have time, maybe you can swing by CIT, clean out my safe? I still have my keycard somewhere... ah, here it is. Theo you remember where my office was? I have some documents I think Doctor Quinlan would like."

“Proctor,” the three men correct her, synchronized.

Theo nods with a smile, leaning back and looking to Danse. The Paladin give his companion a weak smile as Alice passes her brother a card. Even with his smooth face, Theo still looks like Arthur, still shares some of the subtle ticks of the Elder, and the piercing gaze of his aqua eyes that cause Danse's heart to skip a beat. His empty bowl provides a distraction to fight the red creeping up his neck.

Alice produces a bottle of some ancient spirit, the label too worn to read and pours the men present a drink. To family and the future, she says. Danse can drink to that, the liquor burning as it goes down. It tastes like whiskey. Before long Theo and Preston are bickering over the advantages and faults of laser rifles and muskets, an argument neither will win as they favor their own weapon.

Danse sips his single drink for the evening, leaving it half-finished when he decides Theo's drunk enough. Preston stays behind, stating his intention is assisting Alice in cleaning up; Danse simply reminds him to report at 0600 hours to leave for their mission.

The walk to the shuttle is short, Theo occasionally stumbling over his own feet as he leads the way. He stops at the bottom of the stairs leading to the landing pad, looking around quickly before taking Danse by the hand and slipping into the shadows. In the few weeks since packing up the settlers of Sanctuary Hills, slipping into the shadows for stolen kisses had become routine. The act no longer left a burning pit in Danse's gut though he still felt he was betraying himself. He still loved Arthur and knew Theo still loved Nate.

Danse is pressed against the wall, soft lips brush against his own, the tingle of delicate skin and the gentle scrape of teeth. Whiskey tongue and trailing kisses, a bite mark that will remain in the morning on Theo's neck. Drunken hands fumbling with the zipper of his uniform, the burning need to feel skin against skin. Not here, it's not safe, not private.

The back corridor, the door is locked and there is no patrol, a dead end for their private affair. Tight fabric, the texture of ballistic weave, pulled off shoulders and past hips and the soft clink of metal on concrete as both men are stripped bare to their waists. Theo pulls Danse to him, grinding his hips against his Paladin's and causing the other man to suck in air between heated kisses. Danse curses deities he doesn't believe in for how familiar Theo's body feels, the hair coating his chest, the bulk of his muscles, even the length between his legs. Curves and hard lines all too similar, his minds swirling, struggling as memory takes over.

Their hands slip past each others waists, one coaxing the other, movements that are almost synchronous. Danse pressed his forehead against the other man's, fighting the moan that threatens to belie how he feels, a mess of heated passion and baser needs that pushed clarity and reason away. A raw passion that could never become something more, not with so many festering wounds left from past lovers.

"Nate... please..." Theo begs.

Danse breaths out his name, barely a whisper, and his partner sighs heavily in his release.

 _Poison_ , the Paladin reminds himself, that will leave me bleeding to death if I let it.

Their deed is over as quickly as it began, both spent but left feeling incomplete. Theo pulls a rag from his back pocket to clean them both up, Danse muttering words of gratitude before leaning in and lightly kissing Theo once more. He still tastes like whiskey, like Arthur used to. He tells himself once more that this is the last time, he has to retain some of his dignity and pride, but he knows the next time Theo kisses him he will likely falter again and they will steal away to a back corridor to sate their passion.

The flight up to the Prydwen is short, and they part on the main deck, Danse seeking a hot shower to purge his mind and body, to prepare for their upcoming mission. As the warm water runs over his skin he takes tally of their supplies, equipment, and make a note to remind the newly promoted Knight Garvey not to forget extra fusion cores.

As he leaves, a towel wrapped around his neck and bare to the waist, the door swings open, nearly colliding with his face.

"Paladin, my apologies."

Arthur stands before him causing Danse to stand a little straighter, shoulders rigid.

"Elder."

"At ease, Danse."

Those ice-blue eyes scan his body almost too quickly to catch, settling a touch to long on Danse's neck, on his lips. A gaze alone that spreads warmth through his body, igniting a desire he thought was sated.

Arthur is flawlessly composed; how is it possible for someone so young to be so perfect? Danse tells himself he was raised to be the ideal soldier, and his mind is as sharp as any. As his paladin, he must act accordingly, mirror his leader, be an example, not hopelessly lust for him.

"I'm glad I bumped into you, would you please follow me to my quarters?"

Danse complies and follows the Elder to his room. His mind begins to race, they had finalized details for the mission the previous day. Could he have changed his mind about their relationship? No, Arthur Maxson is not feeble, and is aware of his relationship with Theo. Arthur closes the door behind the Paladin and offered him a seat. He paces restlessly, an action Danse had come to understand meant his dear friend had something weighing heavily on his mind.

"What's the matter, Arthur?"

The Elder stilled, running a hand down his beard pensively, "The West Coast Elders are putting pressure on me to return. They are growing tired with my _crusade,_ as they have come to call it. They want me to leave a force here...and return to the Citadel."

Danse could see his irritation, the small ticks he allowed only in private, they way he wrung his hands and traced his scar with his index finger. There was a half empty bottle of spirits on the table and a half full glass.

"Everything I have done, my entire life, had been orchestrated by them, sitting across the wasteland and offering no aid. I alone have accomplished what they have asked, yet they continue to question my actions. Was it not I who defeated Shepherd? Who pulled the Brotherhood back from the brink of collapse after their succesors failed? I who reunited the Outcasts and the East Coast?"

He made a disgruntled snort. Danse felt a sense of guilt rising over his inability to collect any evidence over the past few weeks, his inability to find the Institute, his constant dead ends.

"I'm sorry, Elder. I hope tomorrow we will have some results."

Arthur's face softened, "This is not your burden to bare, Danse. I am tired of being a pawn for the West. Am I not the descendant of Roger Maxson?"

Arthur rarely became this upset and usually nights like these were spent helping one another release their frustrations with less verbal methods. Danse stirred, wanting to retort that his blood did not make him the man he was, it only served to secure his position as Elder. Arthur was intelligent, cautious, a brilliant tactician, and a leader like no other. He was not a man to be told to jump and respond with _how high?_

"Elder... Arthur, we are loyal to you, I am loyal to you. People follow you because you are more than your blood and emulate the ideals and teachings of the Brotherhood! Every soldier on board would gladly lay down their life for you."

Danse stood and moved to Arthur, placing a hand comfortingly on his shoulder, " Under your guidance the Brotherhood has come back from near annihilation and total collapse, and there is no other man like you."

_It's why I only want you._

The Elder looked to Danse's hand, then to his eyes before turning away and folding his hands behind his back. He stood quietly, pensive, mulling over his options as he always did. This was not the first time he had struggled with orders from the West Coast. They feared the young Elder was too much like his mentor, Owen Lyons, fixating on some problem that would consume resources and personelle. Danse knew they wanted to keep him under heel, control his actions as they thought they always had, but Elder Maxson was a man apart. He had accomplished more in his few years as Elder than the West Coast chapters had in the past few decades. Danse also knew that whatever conclusion Arthur came to had to be on his own.

"I'm staying," Arthur said quietly, as if to himself, "This is my war to finish."

Danse smiles and sighs in relief.

For all the young Elder's careful planning, he was as stubborn as they come and could make brash decisions on occasion. In this instance, Danse was glad to know the Elder had stood up for himself.

"I'm glad you've decided to stay," Danse said, adding more quietly, "I enjoy your company."

Arthur's gaze froze on Danse's, looking the Paladin over before clearing his throat and smoothing the lapels on his coat.

"How is my living relic doing?" Arthur said, picking up his drink.

Danse pushed his glass towards Arthur, the Elder filling his cup, "He's an excellent soldier, smart, tactical, a good shot. The soldiers seem less phased by his appearance and accept him as one of their own."

"And you?"

Danse paused, taking a sip and focusing on the burning in his throat as his chest tightened, "He is loyal, dedicated, but looks aren't everything, Arthur. He's not like you."

His confession slips out before he could stop himself, " I still love you."

His chest became uncomfortably tight as the Elder narrowed his gaze, remaining silent as blue eyes cut straight through him. The paladin's pulse quickened, his jaw clenched, his face reddened and he wished he could relive the past minute and keep his thoughts to himself.

"Do you?" Arthur replies icily, his tone cold as his glare.

The young man makes a noise like a serpent, a disapproving hiss. His shoulders are rigid and his back is turned to his subordinate. Danse is not so blunt as to the reason for his friend's reaction. Theo, the object of his weakness and futile desires. Arthur is the only person on the Prydwen with knowledge, however basic, of Danse's affair. Could it be Arthur is jealous? Danse thinks the emotion too low for Arthur Maxson, but he could seldom see past the Elder's veil.

He is struck with an intense sense of deja-vu, standing in this room with Arthur's back to him, chastising his feelings all over again, the painful feeling burning in his chest. He relives the words that haunted him for a year.

_"I love you, Arthur."_

_Arthur pushed himself away from Danse, pulling himself free from his arms. The Elder's eyes were cast away and he exhaled a long sigh that caused Danse's heart to plummet. The pause, the silence, and when Arthur finally looked at him again, Danse knew what he was going to say._

_"I am the sole surviving Maxson, the last of the line of the Brotherhood founders. I must continue the Maxson name, it is my duty. I need to focus on the Brotherhood, fulfill my duty as Elder, and our feelings for each other don't matter. We're soldiers and must act accordingly. That's why I'm sending you to the Commonwealth, my most loyal and capable soldier. We cannot allow our personal feelings to interfere with our mission. I can't love you, Danse._

_"I can't and won't love you and you should feel the same."_

Danse is overcome by a conflicting mix of confusion and sadness that threatens to tear him apart all over again. His emotions bitter, turning into anger, bubbling in the Paladin's gut and threatening to spew forth.

"I thought it didn't matter," he seethes, "I remember, clear as day as if it was yesterday, right here Arthur, and for an agonizing year that was all I could think of."

The floodgates have opened as a year of suppressed rage becomes uncontainable, "You said that our relationship didn't matter, that you couldn't love me because it was your duty to... procreate and further the Brotherhood. I agreed, because I know my own duty and your importance to the Brotherhood's future. I also know how I feel, it is something I can't change. I've tried. So yes, I still love you.”

Danse watches Arthur, waiting for something, but Arthur simply stares at him.

"Know that I will continue to serve you, Elder, and the Brotherhood, until my death."

Without waiting for a reply, the Paladin leaves, knowing full well his emotions will get the better of him if he stays longer. He doesn't feel victorious, only defeated and empty once more. Danse knows what he must do, become steel. In the days, weeks and months to come he will serve.

But tonight sleep only comes by finishing a bottle of rum he has stored in his room as he desperately tries to forget the smell and taste of whiskey.


	7. Chapter 7

Brahmin don't fly. They are too cumbersome and lack wings. Danse knew this, yet in his delusions he could have sworn that pack brahmin was flying. Or maybe he was flying? He can't recall, his brain a haze of pain and vertigo, fading between darkness and light.

When he comes to, his head is pounding, a stampede of deathclaws in his temple. A wave of nausea overtakes him and he regurgitates on the floor of the recovery room. He doesn’t remember returning to the Prydwen.

"Easy, soldier!" Knight-Captain Cade rushed forwards, "Can you tell me your name?"

_ My name? _

"Sir, I need to get back to the field, make sure my team is okay."

Cade pushed him back onto the bed, "Soldier, please, your name."

He blinks, "Paladin Danse. DN-407P."

Cade seemed satisfied with his answer and began asking him simple questions before seeing if he could recount the events that lead to his severe head injury.

Coursers were as deadly as the reports claimed. Two Brotherhood teams had been patrolling GreenTek on a rumor that the Gunners normally occupying the building had mysteriously disappeared. The teams went silent, their bodies found later in an unceremonious heap by Knight Garvey when Paladin Danse's team had been sent to investigate. The pair of attackers had appeared out of thin air and Danse's helmet had spared his life when a courser had attacked him and attempted to smash his head in. After the blow, his reality began to crumble, flying brahmin, a hoard of synths, and Arthur falling away from him. He remembered warmth running in his eyes. Theo and Preston had managed to fend off the coursers, killing one and leaving the other crippled, but Danse was too incapacitated to remember that.

Sleep comes in uncontrollable waves, and his waking hours are a foggy haze. What little clarity he has is spent wondering what he could have done differently. He could have surveyed the area better, looked for more signs of courser activity, maybe if he had tried to sleep the night before without the aid of alcohol. After short talks with Theo and Preston, he decides it was fate that struck him down and he had nothing to do aside from focus on his recovery. 

Progress at a cost, payment in the form of the lives of two squads and Danse's body. The Brotherhood finally has a solid clue to work on. The coursers have chips embedded in their brains that contains clues as to how they get in and out of the Institute. Theo reveals that Alice had work on a similar project before the war and she feels confident she can build a molecular relay, a teleporter in a sense, to get into the Institute. She is driven, as is Theo, by the need to find Shaun. 

It takes almost two weeks for Danse to recover enough to return to light duties, and he is assigned to the Molecular Relay, working alongside Proctor Ingram to organize its construction. The work is grueling and he works long into the nights organizing materials, search parties, and workers alongside the Proctor. He is thankful for the distraction, leaving him no time to think about Arthur or Theo, wanting nothing more than to drive both of them from his mind and regain some of his lost sanity. Occasionally he has a meeting with the Elder, discussing the mission, but they are never alone and Danse always leaves before they can be. Danse also spends less and less time with Theo, sending him out to collect materials alongside Knight Garvey.

Slowly he moves into a spare room in the Airport after missing the last shuttle to the Prydwen three nights in a row. In place of the constant hum of the Prydwen's engines at night there is the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the idle chatter of night patrols. It doesn't matter, he hasn't slept well in months, years. Not since Cutler. His dreams still haunt him.

The last kiss goodbye.

The flash of red.

The blood.

* * *

 

He stretches and rolls his neck, trying for the umpteenth time to relax the tense muscles in his neck that still plague him, that leave a lingering migraine after long days of work. It dawns on him that he's been reading the same list of supplies over again, probably for the tenth time. He needs fresh air.

The night sky is cloudy, a foreboding green tinge to the horizon as he makes his way up the catwalk and peers over the desolate ruins of the former airport. Strange, to think this place was once a hub for thousands of travelers, people moving across the land in hours with ease and safety. The skeletons of planes now serve only a distant reminder of the horrible power technology holds, why the Institute must be stopped.

"Cold tonight."

Lost in thought, Danse had not heard Theo approach. Danse's hands tighten around the railing as the knight approaches leisurely causing his heart to jump into his throat. Theo smiles, leaning next to him, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. 

"When did you get back?" Danse asks casually.

Theo reaches into his pocket, pulling out a golden flip lighter and lights the cigarette, "Just a few hours ago. Got that chip decoded."

He takes a drag and offers Danse the smoke, which he refuses with a wave. A habit he never picked up. Had Danse been thinking clearer he would have inquired as to how the chip was decoded, but instead, he runs a chilled hand through his hair and breathes a sigh of relief.

Another piece found. 

They stand in companionable silence for a minute before Theo flings the butt of his cigarette into the plane graveyard and leans on the railings. Theo is smiling, a smile Danse knows too well.

"Do you want to go somewhere more private?"

Danse's breath catches in his throat. Danse doesn't want to move, fearful if he does Theo will make a move he will have to counter, and he's suddenly grateful that he chose such an exposed place for his break. Over the past few weeks, he felt he broke Theo’s hold over him and this is his final test.

Danse takes a deep breath before speaking, "I think we should stop seeing each other."

"Kind of hard, given you're my CO." Theo teases.

When Danse looks at him the smile fades, replaced by a look that must be genetic. The piercing blue of his eyes, the furrow of his thick brow, even the slight pout to his bottom lip. He's been on the receiving end of that stare before. Even without the beard, it's intimidating.

"You're serious," Theo states flatly.

"I can't allow my emotions to interfere with my work. It just isn't right."

"Bullshit." Theo replies, "Nothing stops you working. You're still recovering from a damn concussion and finding things to do."

Danse can feel the truth welling in his chest. Theo is a good man and he deserves better, deserves honesty but the longer he dwells the more his courage fails. The longer the painful silence hangs between them the more Danse can't deny the truth to his paramour.

"I still love him..." Danse says, turning to look at the Prydwen, her massive form a black spot against the green of a distant rad storm.

Theo doesn't reply. He turns away and runs a hand through his hair, pulling out and lighting another cigarette. He audibly blows smoke from his mouth, reminiscent of some brooding beast. 

"I get it, Danse." Theo speaks finally, after an agonizingly long silence, "Honestly, if I was in your shoes I can't say I'd be as calm. Having someone you love so close..."

"I apologize. I should have never allowed this to drag on for so long."

The apology is waved away as if nothing, a notion that Danse can't deny stings slightly at the thought of being brushed off by yet another Maxson. Is he truly so unremarkable that he can be so easily moved past? Danse fights the onslaught of dark thoughts as he stares blankly at Theo's cigarette.

"Danse?" Theo calls, and the Paladin realizes he had been calling him.

"Thank you for understanding," Danse replies.

Formality and decorum.

"Danse...you're a good man, an exceptional leader, and I think of you as one of maybe three or four friends I have now. Normally I would tell you that I don't want to see you hurt, but I think you're so far past that it's not funny."

"I don't find any of this humorous," Danse says.

The knight rolls his eyes, "It's a figure of speech. I hope Arthur makes you happy because you're miserable to deal with sometimes."

Danse shot Theo a look and saw the knight was smiling, causing the Paladin to chuckle softly. Definitely not like Arthur.


	8. Chapter 8

Theo beams as Elder Maxson announces he will be infiltrating the Institute on behalf of the Brotherhood. Danse smiles to suppress the jealousy he feels. He had always thought he would be the one to infiltrate the Institute, but Theo's military background and superb service with the Brotherhood the past five months make him an ideal choice. The Paladin is still fighting daily headaches and broken sleep, from the concussion and other things.

He looks to Arthur, the Elder smiles at him, the crooked smile that still manages to lighten Danse's day despite everything, and Danse can't help but smile back. Danse still tries to avoid the Prydwen when possible, avoid Arthur. He knows he should apologize for his outburst and was surprised when he wasn't posed to Cambridge. Yet here he remains, filling his day and his mind with duties, decorum and discipline. 

He feels good, strong, focused, like a Paladin should, and he’s finally cleared for active duty.

Less than a week later Theo vanishes in a flash of light, into the belly of the beast. A silent _Ad Victoriam_ to the man, fight the good fight and come back alive and in once piece. The waiting begins.

Danse and his remaining team members are assigned to the massive project of rebuilding Liberty Prime and searching for the missing components. Her parts are flown down from the Prydwen and her reassembly runs through the days and nights. The Brotherhood wants to be prepared for their assault, and hopes to make the first move. Garvey, Haylen and Rhys are sent to collect the magnets needed for the limbs and Danse works with Ingram to coordinate the assembly of the robotic war machine. Prime will be the weapon that tips the scales in their favor. Long days and more nights in the airport turned military base.

A week after his departure, Theo returns from his reconnoiter of the Institute. His debriefing is conducted by Proctor Quinlan, Lancer-Captain Kells, Paladin Danse, and Elder Maxson. The Knight claims the Institute initially took him in, welcomed him, and he was able to make contact with Dr. Maddison Li. She is key to Prime's reconstruction, an original engineer, and she’s agreed to return to the Brotherhood. When the Institute discovered his true loyalties they teleported him to the surface. Something in the way Theo speaks and shifts his weight tells Danse that's not the whole truth, but he dismisses the thought. The data he retrieved is given to Proctor Quinlan for decoding. Theo is commended for his work and dismissed. Once Dr. Li arrives, the assault can be planned and the Institute will be eliminated.

Danse follows Theo as he leaves, heading towards the Mess Hall.

"Knight Theo, good work," The paladin states, offering him a hand.

Theo smiles weakly and accepts the gesture. His grip is weak. He looks around and pulls Danse down a flight of stairs before the Paladin can react. Danse's defenses fly up and he prepares to push Theo away only to have the man collapse into his arms, crying.

"They killed him, my nephew...they... killed Shaun. They took his DNA and used it to make those...abominations! The synths! The ones that look like people...apparently over 50 years ago..." The soldier cries, "I can't tell Alice, it will kill her...she’ll blame herself...she was hoping to see him again and he's gone. I have to..."

He trails off, speaking incoherently as he quietly cries against Danse's shoulder. Another victim of the Institute, another innocent life lost. Danse simply holds him, comforts him the best he can.

"We'll avenge him, soldier, the Institute will pay for what they have done," Danse says, trying to console Theo.

Danse wishes he could share some of the burden Theo bares. He knows the pain of loss, of losing someone you called family.

Theo pulls away from Danse, a wild look in his red-rimmed eyes, his voice venom, "They will pay. Every Institute synth and scientist."

* * *

 

Theo's confession to Alice tears the woman apart and breaks her. Preston is there for her, taking her into his arms and holding her as she sheds every tear she has. Her boy, the last memory of her life before and her husband is gone. Danse doesn't know what to say even though he has seen this before, seen a mother cry at the news of her son's death. Cutler's mother. She had never recovered and vanished into the wastes one day never to be seen again. The Paladin can only pray Theo and Preston will keep her sane, keep her alive. He leaves when they take her to bed, shaking thoughts of Cutler from his mind. He knows he will dream tonight.

Danse focuses on his next mission, the march into the glowing sea to retrieve Prime's nuclear armaments. To see her in action will be a memory to cherish, a moment of pride every soldier in the brotherhood will share. He takes one of the last shuttles to the Prydwen, the Vertibird’s blades drowning out his thoughts. 

The command deck is empty, the soldier on guard saluting as Danse passes and heads down the ladder. Danse's eye catches the golden glow from Arthur's quarters and pauses. 

_What if something happens?_

_What if I die in the wastes?_

_I should apologize._

He pushes the door open to find Arthur asleep atop his paperwork. The smell of whiskey is heavy in the air telling him the Elder more likely passed out. A pile of papers sits off to his left, a pen still in his hands. Danse worries, not for the first time, that the Elder's self-set pace will send him to an early grave.

Danse moves to the Elder's side, shaking him gently, "Sir, can I help you to bed?"

The only response is a groan as the Elder pushes himself upright, almost falling off the chair when he tries to sit up. Danse manages to stand him up and support him with an arm under his shoulders as he moves him to bed.

_He only drinks like this when the stress become too much._

"Paladin," he mutters, before trailing off unintelligibly.

"Elder?"

Arthur's reply is to drunkenly grab the front of Danse's uniform and drag him down, his lips colliding painfully with Arthur's. The Paladin is frozen in shock, reciprocating nothing as his mind blanks. The kiss is sloppy, drunk, and doesn't last long as Arthur's hands fall to the bed and the Elder snores peacefully. Danse is left leaning over the bed, confused, more confused than the first time Arthur kissed him years ago.

Clearly the Elder was drunk, but he kissed him. Danse knows the Elder won't remember in the morning.

Danse's sleep is broken and fitful, causing him to sour overnight as he replays the kiss from Arthur unending in his mind. He rolls out of bed half an hour before his alarm sounds and breaks his fast with a few other paladin's preparing for their own missions.

The Elder still isn't awake by the time he leaves.

Preston and Theo are in a sobering mood that only provides Danse with more time alone with his thoughts. The long trek through the Glowing Sea will hopefully settle his mind. Danse focuses on the mission at hand, securing the nuclear payload for Prime. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I simply chose to progress this damn plot and my writing suffered. Sorry folks. 
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! I kind of forgot about this story... XD


	9. Chapter 9

Danse jumps down from the Vertibird after it docks to the Prydwen, the familiar sound of metal crashing on metal reverberating through the ship’s decking. Theo and Preston asked to return to Alice hours ago and Paladin Danse promised to debrief the Proctors’ on the team's behalf.

 

 

His heart rate picks up as he nears the command deck, nears the Elder. He'd forgotten about the kiss until he stepped onto the vertibird after securing the nukes, and now the memory consumed him once more. 

 

Danse goes straight to Proctor Quinlan, informing him of the mission's success and handing over a few holotapes of information he retrieved from the Sentinel Site. His next stop is the shower, followed by a hot meal that doesn't taste like processed cardboard and vegetable starch. When he steps in front of his door he glances briefly towards the Elder`s quarters before deciding to retreat to his own. He is tired and might not fully articulate his feelings and apology.

 

He thinks about polishing his power armor or tuning his rifle, but he hasn't slept in over 24 hours. He doesn't want to but against his better judgment, he lays back on the bed arms stretched overhead and quickly drifts off to sleep, rethinking the kiss once more as his lids become unbearably heavy.

 

The Sentinel Site returns to him in his dreams, Theo is fighting by his side, shooting down ghouls and super mutants. The site slowly changes and he's charging into the hive now, the smell of rotten flesh and bone burned eternally into his memory. They clear through the mutants and enter a room filled with cages. The twisted and deformed bodies trapped inside howl with pain and beg for release. A release given by way of red laser fire. Danse is alone now, a single cage remains, opened, the figure inside pleading, begging.

 

"D..Danse...you found me..." Even the voice is twisted almost beyond recognition.

 

 

The left side of Cutler's body is completely twisted and deformed, green, bloated beyond recognition and repair. He's curled in on himself in pain and shame, but when their eyes meet, the eyes are Cutler's.

 

 

"Cutler, no." His voice sounds hollow and far away in comparison as he rushes to the figure.

 

"You...saved me..." Cutler laughs, the noise more a growl than the laugh he heard a hundred times, "It hurts so m..m..much...pplease...kill m-me."

 

"Hang in there, soldier. I'll get you out of here...maybe we can fix this."

 

Danse kneels, placing his rifle aside and taking Cutler's hands in his own, one larger than the other. His gut twists in anger and disgust, but he says nothing, looking instead into his lover's dark browns eyes, patches of his skin still dark with freckles. He leans in not caring how the texture of his skin is rough as he brushes his former lover's face or the sour taste as he sweeps his tongue through Cutler's mouth. Danse can't pull the trigger, he knows he must but he just wants another minute. He should apologize for what he said, but he doesn't remember now.

 

Cutler wraps his good arm around Danse, pulling him close and kissing him softly once more, his lips are warm. They break apart and Danse is thrown backward as Cutler pushes him away with unnatural strength, knocking the Paladin onto his backside. Cutler grabs his rifle and places the muzzle under his chin.

 

"Goodbye, Danse"

 

A flash of red.

 

Hands covered with Cutler's blood. A heart-wrenching shout.

 

The paladin's eyes snap open and he lunges out of bed in his nightmare fog. His face is wet with tears, his skin drenched in sweat, his body shaking, trembling uncontrollably. Danse begins to pace, reconnecting with reality, focusing on the hum of the Prydwen's engines and the steel floor beneath his feet. The more he paces, the calmer he becomes, the nightmare fading away bit by bit until it becomes only a memory again.

 

The last conversation he had with Cutler before his mission had been a petty argument that he can no longer recall, the memory faded over the years. Danse thinks about his last conversation with Arthur. Would he want it to be an argument as well? Their last words being no more than an affirmation of order?

 

The clock reads past 2300 hours, he's slept through most of the day but with any luck, he can grab a moment with the Elder and apologize. His pacing picks up again as his mind formulates what he will say. 

 

A soft knock on the door draws him out of his thoughts and he goes to open it. 

 

"Elder," Danse says timidly, unprepared to face the very man he longs to see, "What can I do for you?"

 

His dress is casual, no flight suit or heavy coat, just a white tank and fatigues. 

 

Arthur looks over his shoulder before turning to face Danse, "I was hoping to speak in private. May I come in?"

 

His heart is hammering against his ribcage as he moves aside and allows Arthur to enter. Arthur turns after Danse closes the metal door, the hinges squeaking slightly. Neither speaks, silence hangs heavy in the room.

 

"How are you?" Arthur asks.

 

"I'm alright. Tired, still have headaches," Danse replies shortly, trying to ignore his sudden nervousness and growing headache.

 

"I heard you... talking...Are you having nightmares again?" Arthur asks, and Danse is distracted by the concerned look.

 

"Yes."

 

Again there is silence. Danse begins massaging the back of his neck, a sign he's nervous. 

 

"Arthur, I should apologize for my outburst, it was inappropriate of me as a Paladin and..."

 

"You were right," Arthur cuts him off, "Right to be angry with me. I'd hurt you."

 

"I understand, Arthur, I do. You're integral to the Brotherhood, and I can't distract you from our mission and goals, your future, I won't."

 

"Danse if there is one person on this ship with goals equal to myself it's you. No one is more loyal to me or the Brotherhood. No one has taught me more or helped me become the man I am now. 

 

“What I said in the Capital was said out of fear. Fear of something so new and foreign. Fear about how I felt, and I used decorum and duty to distance myself. I realize now there is much I still have to learn and I’m sorry."

 

"What are you saying, Arthur?" Danse asks, taking a step towards the Elder.

 

"That I love you, that I have since that night over a year ago in my quarters."

 

Danse is convinced he's still dreaming, the walls as much a mirage as the man in front of him. He feels strangely lightheaded and realizes he's probably been holding his breath for too long. He forces himself to breathe, to look into Arthur's eyes. Eyes ice blue, brow knitted with concern, the dark hair cascading to the right, the deep scar that mars his right cheek, the meticulously maintained beard that hides the strong jaw, and his lush lips. This is Arthur, his hand outstretched, caressing his cheek, running a thumb down the scar that makes his smile crooked.

 

The uncertainty Danse feels towards Arthur confuses him, shakes him to the core. Over a year ago he would have been overjoyed to hear those words and it dawns on him slowly that he too is afraid. Afraid of being rejected again, afraid of the secrecy, afraid of losing Arthur. In the here and now stands Arthur Maxson confessing a love for him that he’s secretly kept for over a year. The strength of those three words alone breaks through the hardened layers of melancholy, anger, and rejection, springing forth the deep-seated adoration Danse harbors for his Elder and his best friend.

 

“I love you, too,” he says, relaxing, dissolving the barriers that check his emotions.

 

“I know. I should have realized then that you would have helped me learn what being with someone who loves you means,” Arthur replies, reaching timidly for Danse.

 

Still in utter disbelief, Danse brings his hands to Arthur's face, holding him, before Arthur leans in. The touch of Arthur's lips, his arms wrapping around Danse's waist as Danse wraps Arthur in his arms, entwining, a touch that spreads fire through Danse's body, a warmth he's not felt since...

 

"I'm so sorry, Arthur. I was weak," he breaths, pulling away, a flood of shame and guilt washing over him, "I didn't know, I thought..."

 

The blue eyes close, look away, "Theo told me you left him. Told me I was lucky to have a man like you. It's the only time he's ever spoken to me outside of debriefings." Arthur laughs, the soft chuckles Danse loves about him, "If only I was honest with you before... but I know we can move past that, Danse."

 

This time Danse is the one to lean in first, kissing Arthur with a year of pent-up longing, a longing reciprocated equally. They come together, lips parted, hungry and gasping, insatiable, a desire unleashed that nothing can withhold. Hands slip beneath clothing, tracing the hard lines both effort and war have left, scars and muscle alike, a touch that emboldens them both, and only increases one’s need for the other. 

 

The Paladin submits willingly, completely, and Arthur pushes him towards the bed as their clothing is stripped and carelessly cast aside. Danse reclines, taking the time to drink in the sight Arthur, his broad shoulders, thickly furred chest, the scars across his right pec from the deathclaw that nearly killed him. Arthur had more bulk built off the field than on, from a routine Danse still had memorized. One they had shared at one point. Maybe they can again. The thought is forgotten, as Arthur smoothes his hands up the paladin's thighs, over his body.

 

Arthur moves over Danse, worshipping the man with such tenderness he draws tears. The paladin’s entire body aches with longing, his heart hammers against his ribs as he gropes at his lover, pulling him close, wanting to touch every inch of exposed skin, the feeling of warmth beneath his fingers. Arthur’s adoration is akin to worshipping as the younger man kisses and pleases his love, revels in his chest, his neck, his lips gliding over Danse's skin, each sensation leaving a bloom of heat that coils about his spine and threatens to spill forth. He begs, pleading to be taken, to have all Arthur will give him and Arthur will give him all.

 

Both know what need to be done and have what’s needed. Danse prepares himself while Arthur continues to lavish, showering affection over every inch of his body. His beard tickles, teasing his flesh and his lips rove down Danse’s neck, over his chest and stomach, hands and lips caressing his thigh. The Elder moves to take Danse in his mouth, the paladin moaning as he comes undone at his lover's touch, but too far gone to last as he pulls him off. He’s ready and Arthur enters him slowly, taking Danse’s hands into his own while he sheaths himself, fingers enmeshed, bodies entwined. They whisper endearment, pleasure-driven curses, moving in unison, eyes locked, brown to blue, darkened with lust, longing, and love. 

 

Arthur’s breathing becomes heavy, his movements sharp, hips snapping, unraveling before Danse who takes in the sight of him; his parted lips, the sweat that coats his body, the intensity of his stare. His own release nears, the sensation making his limbs feel numb as it grows in his gut, coiling about his spine, urged on by Arthur’s hand and voice until he’s spilling onto himself with a throaty growl that is almost primal. Arthur's release follows shortly and he collapses onto Danse’s chest, flushed, panting heavily. Sated.

 

Awash with a relief akin to a fire’s warmth or a sunset’s glow, Danse can only hold Arthur against him, kissing each other softly as they bask in each other’s presence. Danse trails his fingers through his love’s hair, kissing him softly, repeatedly, until Arthur can’t stop smiling.  He aches pleasantly, his body heavy from fatigue as he wraps his arms about Arthur, peppering him with kisses and endearments. They part briefly to clean and dress, only to curl together once more and slowly drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

 

It is not time or dreams that wake Danse, but the thundering of metal against metal.

 

“What is that?” Arthur asks sleepily.

 

“Power armor. A lot of it.” Danse replies, equally dazed, with worry growing in his gut.

 

Danse stands, moving to his cupboard to grab a can of water. There is a crash against his door, the ring of steel on steel echoing through the room as the door is sent from its hinges. The can slips from Danse’s hand as his immediate reaction is to protect Arthur, be the barrier between him and the intruder. In the noise and action of the moment, he relies on instinct and training. Protect the Elder. Protect Maxson. Protect Arthur.

 

Theo stands in the door, his aqua-blue eyes rimmed red, filled with rage but otherwise empty as he unloads his clip, and Danse loses track of the number of shots fired. Each mark scoring him, burning holes in clothing and skin alike. The ground moves impossibly slow towards him until there is the briefest pain on the left side of his face; his hands are stained red with his own blood. Two soldiers are dragging Arthur away, the Elder struggling and calling for him, as darkness slowly encroaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to edit this chapter and managed to break the formatting. That was fun. 
> 
> Ahhh, did you think I forgot about Blind Betrayal?


	10. Chapter 10

The single drop of water running down his face is cold in comparison to his skin; hot and dry. His lips are chapped and when he goes to moisten them he finds his mouth equally parched. There is a softness to the world around him, a sense akin to floating in water, but as he blinks opens his eyes he is greeted by concrete and pain. He looks around and slowly realizes he in the Airport, an IV bag hooked up to his arm and handcuffs around his wrists. An experimental tug causes metal to click on metal. There must be a misunderstanding. He must have fought in his recovery.

 

  
_Metal on metal._

 

Danse panics, pulling against the restraints and ignoring the pain of the too tight handcuffs digging into his skin. He needs to find Arthur, find out what happened. He stills when a scribe enters his room, saying nothing, checking the I.V. bag, adjusting the drip, avoiding eye contact.

 

"Scribe, where is Elder Maxson. What's happened?"

 

The scribe doesn't look at him.

 

"That's an order from your superior, scribe."

 

"I've been _ordered_ not to talk to you."

 

Danse's brows furrows, "Why, under whose order?"

 

The scribe looks away, "Elder Maxson's. You're a synth."

 

  
A synth?

 

There must be a mistake, he can't be a synth, it's impossible. His denial grows as his memories cycle, trying to find some truth to the lie. If he is a synth he should remember something about the Institute, but when he thinks he only remembers being an orphan in the Capital Wasteland, fighting day after day for scraps of food or a drink of water, the gnawing pain of hunger and ache from thirst. Of meeting Cutler, the junk stand, joining the Brotherhood, his entire service. All his memories feel real, seamlessly blending together.

 

He knows the Brotherhood would not lie and spread false rumors, that Arthur would not issue the order of his arrest lightly nor easily. So why is he even alive? Synths are abominations, a construct made to be a weapon, a tool of war meant to be destroyed. Technology that’s run amok and brought the Commonwealth to its knees. A plague on humanity. If he is a synth then he knows his fate. He must be an example, no matter his dedication or loyalty, a reminder that all synths must be destroyed. For the good of the Brotherhood he must be put down.

 

Danse's only hope is that the Elder won't be the executioner, it would break him. How humiliating for the Elder to be caught fraternizing with a synth, with the enemy? How betrayed must he feel? How defeated to let everything he carefully planned to come undone. The thought of Danse causing so much pain to someone his loves, his friend, his Elder, uncovers the left-loathing he thought he’d freed himself of.

 

Time passes, only scribes enter and leave, all silent, none paying heed except to change his I.V. and bandages. The doses of Med-X they are giving him are small, barely enough to take the edge off the pain in his body, the constant sting all over his chest and arms. Danse can also tell they haven’t given him any Stim-paks for healing. Best not to waste precious resources on a synth, on something to be destroyed.

 

  
I am an abomination. Filth. Scum.

 

Danse accepts his fate and waits, reciting the litany, repetitively, endlessly.

* * *

 

 

Danse is brought into the courtyard where Liberty Prime stands near ready for her battle. His fate is sealed, his execution will be public. Elder Maxson stands on the gantry, emotionless, fearless, unfaltering. His Proctors are to the left and his Captains to the right. His executioner will be Theodore Maxson, and Danse will be his vengeance.

 

He focuses on the Brotherhood flag behind those gathered, her orange a stark contrast to the blue of the sky.

 

  
Blue like Arthur's eyes.

 

No, those thoughts are wrong. A synth should not feel, should not love. His heart contracts painfully in his chest when he looks to the Elder, Arthur, who is staring at him, no emotion displayed on his face. Dance casts his eyes to the cement below his knees, focusing on the pain from his laser burns instead of the pain from his unknown betrayal.

 

Proctor Quinlan speaks first, "Danse, you are accused of being a synth. The decrypted data retrieved from the Institute identifies you as a synth under the designation M7-97. Do you deny these claims?"

 

Danse looks up to Theo and then to Maxson, "I didn't know I was a synth, but if I am then I accept my fate."

 

He return his gaze to the earth.

 

"Paladin Maxson, initiate the test." Quinlan states.

 

"With pleasure, Proctor," Theo seethes, "Stand up."

 

Danse struggles to his feet, pain wracking his body from the burns and wounds he received just over 24 hours ago. He can feel the bandages pull open still healing wounds, feel his blood soaking the gauze anew. His shoulders are back, his chin up, he is ready. He must be the example. Danse closes his eyes after looking one last time at Arthur.

 

“Ad Victoriam, Paladin,” Danse says lowly, for only Theo to hear.

 

"M7-97, initiate factory reset code, authorization Omega 3-0 Atlas."

 

He waits for the final blow to come, the shot to end it all. He feels nothing but the pain in his body, a headache creeping through his skull, the weight of the entire Brotherhood watching with bated breath as he hears their whispers begin to rise.

 

"M7-97, initiate factory reset code, authorization Omega 3-0 Atlas." Theo repeats.

 

Again nothing happens. Danse opens one eye, followed by the other. Hushed whispers grow to a buzz, the crowd gathered staring is shocked and disbelieving.

 

"M7-97, initiate..."

 

"That's enough!" The Elder barks, a hush falling once more over those gathered, "Three other members of our order were executed for treason, for spying on the Brotherhood on behalf of the Institute and conspiring with the enemy. This method was used on them all to determine their synth origins and they were destroyed. Combined with his behavior, it is apparent that Paladin Danse is not a traitor or a synth, and I order all charges against him to be dropped."

 

"Why would the Institute create falsified data, Elder? Danse is a synth, the code must be wrong!" Theo retorts, gun still pointed at Danse.

 

"Are you questioning my orders, Paladin?"

 

Theo reluctantly lowers the rifle,"No, Elder."

 

"Take Paladin Danse to the Prydwen for further medical attention. Dismissed."

 

Theo throws his rifle to the ground with such a force the butt snaps off, marching off towards the Airport settlement. As the adrenaline in the Danse’s system quickly subsides, his limbs become shaky and he falls to the floor. Knight Garvey rushes over, taking Danse over his shoulder and helping the larger man walk towards the waiting shuttle.

 

"I knew you couldn't be a synth!" Preston says excitedly, “There was no way.”

 

Danse smiles weakly, unsure of what just happened, his mind racing, hoping for an explanation regarding the hectic events of the past few days. Preston struggles to help Danse into the waiting vertibird, the pain across Danse's chest near unbearable and he is unable to pull himself into the cabin. Out of the corner of his eye, Danse catches a figure pulling himself into the vertibird.

 

"Allow me, Paladin."

 

Arthur is extending his hand and with Preston's help Danse is pulled into the waiting vertibird and sits on the bench. Arthur sits next to him, wrapping an arm around Danse and pulling Danse's head to rest on his shoulder. To his surprise, Arthur laces his fingers through Danse’s own, holding tightly onto his hand. He feels so warm, the heat radiating off him is comforting, as is the smell of smoke and leather and Danse is almost lulled to sleep. He would have pulled away from the embrace if he wasn’t in utter agony.

 

The vertibird's engines roar to life and it lurches off the ground, making a wide circle as it soars towards the Prydwen. Once the Vertibird docks, Danse is assisted by two scribes and taken to the infirmary with the Elder following closely in their wake.

 

Danse's wounds are tended, rebandaged, he’s given Med-X and Stims before being left alone with The Elder. His eyes are growing heavy as he watched the Elder strips is gloves and grab a clean cloth from Cade's desk, dipping it into a bowl of still steaming water before wringing it out. Arthur says nothing as he pulls up a chair next to Danse’s bed. The cloth is warm and soothing against his parched skin. The sweat and blood dried onto his skin is lovingly removed leaving him refreshed. Arthur places the cloth aside before taking his hand once more and squeezing tightly, almost painfully so. The physical contact in such a public place surprises Danse and he tried to pull his hand away only to have Arthur smile faintly.

 

“I’m alright, Arthur.” he assures, his voice weak from pain and medication.

 

The Elder's stoic visage slowly crumbles, changing to an expression Danse can’t place, one he hasn’t seen before. It isn’t until Arthur releases a single, painful-sounding sob and collapses onto Danse that he fully understands. An emotional release that crushes the younger man; to confess your love to someone and have them ripped away, revealed as your worst enemy, branded a traitor and to sentence them to death and survive it all in a matter of hours. The revelation was too much, Arthur’s relief so strong he is brought to tears.

 

A hundred question bombard the paladin and his own head is spinning, but he runs his free hand through Arthur’s hair, soothing the trembling man draped across his abdomen. Danse can wait for answers. Arthur looks up to Danse, his eyes bloodshot as he leans in to kiss Danse. Instinct makes Danse turn away, closing his eyes he does. The room is not private and anyone could walk in on them. He can feel his heart rate picking-up, the heart monitor he’s hooked up to announcing his thoughts.

 

“Danse.”

 

He can’t help but turn towards Arthur, “Anyone could walk in.”

 

“Everyone knows,” he says hoarsely, “Apparently some have known for a while. I wasn’t as cautious as I thought…”

 

The Elder cups his chin and leans in, pressing his lips to Danse’s own, kissing him softly and slowly. The paladin attempts to force his body to relax and Arthur breaks away after a short time to simply look at Danse with a small, lopsided smile.

 

After some time Arthur stands and straightens his posture, running a hand through his hair to collect and tame the loose strands, composing himself after his momentary collapse. There were dark circles under his eyes, creases on his young face, a redness to his eyes caused by sleep deprivation, tears, and stress. He was still holding Danse’s hand.

 

“What the hell happened, Arthur?” Danse asks weakly.

 

“The data Theo collected from the Institute contained a list of synths who had been placed inside the Brotherhood. Sleeper agents.” Arthur states, perfectly composed once more, “Two Knights and a Scribe were captured, detained, and, once we were certain of their origins, executed. Upon further investigation, we discovered that each synth has a unique recall code that essentially deactivates it and we used the codes to verify they were indeed synths.

 

“Theo was instrumental to uncovering the truth, so I promoted him and he was chosen to distribute our justice.”

 

“Who were the infiltrators?”

 

“Knights Gabriel Ford and Emma Beam, and Scribe Victor Crass.”

 

Danse made a low sound of contemplation, trying to recall faces to match the names, “Arthur, they were with us from the Capitol Wasteland. They could have placed more within our ranks.”

 

“I’m aware, that’s why we’re attacking the Institute in within a fortnight,” Arthur replies.

 

“I’ll be ready, sir.”

 

“Good. I’ll need my Sentinel by my side.”

 

  
_Sentinel?_

 

Danse is speechless, he tries to move into a sitting position only to grimace from pain.

 

“Easy, Danse. We’ll talk later,” Arthur cooes, “It’s a promotion long overdue and well deserved. For now, rest.”

 

The Elder straightens the lapels on his heavy coat before pressing a kiss to Danse’s forehead and taking his leave.

 

Danse is overwhelmed by relief and pride as he quickly drifts off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

“They may call it cronyism.”

“Enough,” Arthur muttered, taking a comb in hand to tame both beard and hair gone wild by night, “Do I need to list everything you’ve done for the Brotherhood to stop you questioning your promotion? Why do you think the Sentinel Power Armor was even on the ship? If anything, I delayed you the promotion because of your personal relationship with Theo.”

Danse felt his stomach knot as an irritated tone slipped into the Elder’s voice. He idly chewed at this inner cheek. For the most part, his promotion was well received when Arthur proposed it shortly before the whirlwind of events. The heads of staff had also taken the reveal of their relationship well, only a few knowing beforehand and only because Arthur had told them. Cade had known longest, being the chief medical officer in the Citadel and aboard the Prydwen. Kells was aware in the event Arthur felt his duty was compromised by his emotions or relations. Any other personnel were hushed by circumspect.

“I’m sorry about Theo.”

The apology earned him a piercing glare, Arthur turning away from the mirror in his bathroom to look directly at Danse. Most of the prior conversation was between Danse and Arthur’s reflection.

The Elder sighed, “Please, stop apologizing.”

The knot rose into the Sentinel’s throat as his heart throbbed painfully. He stepped behind Arthur when the Elder returned his attention to the mirror and self-grooming, wrapping his arms around his torso and pressing his mouth against his love’s neck. There was a release of tension with the breath Arthur exhaled, his hand coming to rest on Danse’s own.

“Change is for naught if we forget the reason for whom we changed,” the younger man said solemnly.

“Who said that?”

“Roger Maxson, though in his case I suspect it had more to do with the apparent end of civilization.”

“Seems the Maxson’s have always been wise people.”

“We were privileged, hidden away in a bunker when the bombs fell and educated while the world fell into chaos. Driven by fear we sought to control the remnants of the old world to try a build a new one, and for what? Hoard technology and fear what we don’t understand?” Arthur speaks to his own reflection as if accusing himself. He turns into Danse, “If I sought to change things would you remain by my side?”

Worry edged the Sentinels mind at the word. Change. Change for Danse had brought both fortune and disfavor previously, yet he knows that Arthur, if no one else, will find balance and greatness.

His hands slip around Arthur’s waist as he pulls them closer together, “I think you already know the answer, Arthur.”

There is a silent plea in the Elder’s eyes, a need for the words left unspoken, trapped behind pale blue gates. Danse takes Arthur's hands in his own, “I’m bound by duty to the Brotherhood, and to you by something beyond that. I’ll always be by your side no matter what.”

Tension rolls off Arthur as the affirmation relaxes his mind and he presses his forehead to Danse’s. For all his remaining days, however long or short they may be, the Sentinel is bound to the Elder, by duty, by adoration, by the unearthly force the kept him alive through his recon so he could see Arthur one more time. Whatever Arthur needs he is willing to give.

“I love you,” Arthur smiles, cutting off any reply with his lips as he pins Danse between his warm body and the cold steel of the bathroom wall. 

Their tongues entwine, a sensation that electrifies the frayed nerves of the Sentinel, generating a hunger, warm in his gut. Alone, for the first time in days, Danse can relax and accept that this is real, they are together, their lives will grow together as vines about boughs. Danse sweeps his tongue into his lover’s mouth as the comb in Arthur’s hand falls with a clatter to the metal floor. The surprisingly soft texture of the Elder’s beard, how his eyes flutter shut when they kiss, the fullness of his lips. Arthur teases his lip with teeth, sweeping his tongue through Danse’s mouth, tasting him, sinking into his love as Danse runs his hands over his form. Curves and hard muscle that are familiar, that he cannot forget, scars trailing down his right side from the Deathclaw attack. 

Arthur is hard against him and Danse is driven by a selfless desire to relax his Elder that much more. His hands move over Arthur’s broad shoulders, down his chest, stripping off his boxers and pushing the fabric past his love’s hips to expose the younger man’s length. With hands he teases and strokes, Arthur’s mouth gasping against Danse’s as his hands grab fruitlessly at the Sentinel’s bare chest.

This close Danse can smell the unique scent that is Arthur; the tang of smoke, leather, and salt, a scent that is his alone. Arthur gasps as Danse switches positions, pressing him against the cold steel wall, peppering his hairy chest and stomach with the touch of his lips, descending slowly past his navel and taking him in mouth. Strong hands tugs at his roots, not to pull him away but to heighten their current connection. 

Arthur's skin is velvet soft in his mouth as he pleasures, his erratic and sharp breath music as Danse brings his hand to grip his base. The Elder’s grip tightens as his hips begin to thrust deeper as he is undone by hand and mouth. Arthur curses breathlessly before finally crying out Danse’s name and spilling into his lover’s mouth. Arthur’s is a taste he’ll never tire of.

Just as Arthur pulls Danse back against him the familiar ring of the Prydwen’s announcement system chimes and Kells’ voice fills the air, “Elder Maxson to the Command Deck. Repeat. Elder Maxson to the Command Deck.”

Both sigh as duty calls them apart, an unchanged factor both accept as part of their lives. A few more quick kisses are exchanged before Arthur tears himself away from Danse with a promise to make time later. The sentinel drinks his form in as it disappears underneath the jet black of his flight suit and out the door of the Elder’s quarters. 

Minutes after Arthur leaves, Danse finds himself pacing restlessly, his longing morphed into energy to be burned elsewhere, his healing wounds itching against his fresh uniform. Boredom is seldom welcome in Danse’s routine, his hands long to work, as does his mind and he leaves the Elder’s quarters to find a task. 

There is a gaping hole where once stood the door to Danse’s personal quarters, the sight of it making his skin crawl as it tugs at raw memories. So much of his life exposed in so short a time. He has a quick bite to eat but decides to work on his new set of power armor as eyes turn on him, questions left unspoken. 

Arthur had gifted to him a gorgeous set of steel plating and optimized servos, the epitome of Brotherhood technology. Only the Elder’s own set can rival it. The dark paint still marred from the previous owner. Sarah would have been proud to see him adorned in it.

Knight-Captain Cade provides a thorough lecture on the reason it is illogical to perform power armor maintenance while on mandatory bed rest and after a small dose of Med-X, Danse returns to the Elder’s quarters. Arthur was still gone but the piles of paperwork from Quinlan, duty rosters awaiting approval from Kells, and trade agreements from Tegan remain. Despite his aversion to paperwork, the task is something that can keep Danse’s mind preoccupied and free up some of his love’s time. Clearly, the stress of duty was mounting on Arthur, his normally organized room slowly falling into disarray.

After promising Proctor Quinlan three additional research patrols and completing two weeks of rosters for Lancer-Captain Kells, Danse begins to compile and organize the mound of holotapes and files Arthur had begun to accumulate beside his personal terminal. The top drawer of the Elder’s desk is filled with personal effects; his old dog tags, an old, tattered photo of his parents, the 10mm shell casing from his first live firing, a few books in Latin and English from ages past. The second drawer is sparse, two boxes of cigars under a few empty files. Enough space to compile the dozen or so tapes on his desk. One-by-one he pops them in the terminal to determine their contents and label them accordingly.

As he moves the cigars, there is a curious knocking sound from one of the fragile wooden boxes, indicative of something other than rolled tobacco. A single holotape is inside the old box at the back of the drawer, two solid, black lines the only markings. Like the other’s he mindlessly pops it in the terminal.

His pulse quickens, his body numbing as he stares at his own green face on the monitor, noting the almost soulless look of the eyes in the picture of his perfect clone. Designation:  _ M7-97 _ . Created: 01-06- 2269. Labour and Manufacturing. Missing 10-03-2272. Recall Code: Omega 8-6 Atlas.

There is pain erupting through his temple, an instant wave of fire, barbs and crushing pain so strong he buckles and falls to the floor. His vision goes white as he claws helplessly at his skull for relief, and slowly the pain subsides.  As the pain passes he is overcome with a sickening guilt and an unnatural clarity. That was not the code uttered only a few days prior. Another thought chills him further, Arthur is lying. To the Brotherhood. To him! Not only that, he’s left himself completely vulnerable to the enemy, to what knows Danse is. A synth.

Danse's hands shake as he dwells on the truth.0

_ A synth, how could Arthur let me live? _

Panic wells, makes his body vibrate as the truth sinks in, leaving Danse's world feeling suddenly dystopian. Dangerous, abomination, soulless, he knows he cannot exist, his very existence is an affront to the Brotherhood and he is a ticking time bomb, a threat to Arthur and every soldier on board. There is a constant, steady sound as he paces, mulling his options. Arthur has already jeopardized his position by hiding the truth, by secretly harboring him, all for what? Love? A programmed love, likely instilled ages ago to make him an infiltration unit. Sourness rises from his throat at the thought of their past lovemaking, how he has fouled the Elder's body.

He knows he cannot remain alive, but turning himself over will ruin everything Arthur already sacrificed for him. He needs to leave, find a way to destroy himself, protect the Elder and the Brotherhood, for what is best. Arthur is young, strong, and in time he will heal and move on, maybe even forgive Danse, gain the life Danse has selfishly taken from him. A family, a future for the Maxson name, a real person to be with.

Danse takes the tape, tucks it into his uniform and begins packing a few things for his unknown trip, attempting to formulate a plan to leave without raising alarm given his bedrest and injuries. If he can get outside the airport, he can improvise, plan along the way. A final trip, but first he must say goodbye, in words short and simple, so Arthur will understand this is best for them both, for the Brotherhood. 

_ Love is blinding. Love is a weakness. Love is a sacrifice. Goodbye Arthur. I love you. _

He picks up his rucksack and says a silent farewell to Arthur and the only home he had ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcanon that if a synth sees their recall code it will reset them but Dane's component is damaged so instead he had short bursts of extreme pain.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything must come to an end eventually.

A bird flies overhead, circling for carrion amongst the vast wastes of the Commonwealth. Like everything else in this godforsaken place, these creatures constantly hunt for the scraps left behind by war and cruelty. The cycle of life, devouring everything until only bones and ash remain. The dead become food for the worms, the vultures, and the crows, which is what Danse will become.

_If they even eat synths._

Dust is kicked up with each step taken further away from the Airport, from the Brotherhood, from Arthur Maxson. His unworthy life is to be sacrificed this day and his traitorous blood will not taunt another soul. Danse knows he must do what Arthur could not. Every falter in the Sentinel’s steps is met with fierce determination, a desire to bring about the justice that rules his life. He is the enemy, a synth, and he cannot be an exception.

If the Brotherhood ever found out what Arthur had done, everything the young Elder had spent years building would come crashing down around him and the thought alone feeds Danse’s resolution to ensure his own end. The Codex, the litany, and the Elder himself are firm, clear in their meaning. All abominations of technology must be destroyed.

And synths are abominations _._

Inky clouds blot the sky as the bunker come into view; originally it was a fallback point for Gladious in case the police station fell. Its isolation will make a fitting tomb.

There is an eerie stillness to the underground bunker, the air cold and clammy, suffocating, the rooms dark, and any sound deafened by tonnes of earth hanging overhead. Danse finds and throws the switch, the generator sparking as the bunker comes alive. The lights blink and the sound of the air recirculation system begins to break the silence. There is a hum reminiscent of the Prydwen’s engines.

Danse pulls out a bottle of whiskey and a glass setting them on the lone table in the bunker before laying his laser rifle next to them.

Liquid courage.

Whiskey burns the first time down, he swallows it along with the thought is life should be spared. He is an abomination. The second shot goes down smoother and again he reminds himself he is nothing. The third like water. He is nothing.

Danse had expected by four drinks he would have worked up the courage to pick up his rifle, turn the muzzle on himself, fulfill his duty, but he can’t even look at his gun. Instead, his hands shake as he clutches his temple, his mind a cocktail of apologies to Arthur, attempts to suppress his will to survive. Every question answered by the constant reminder that he is a synth and he cannot be allowed to live, that it doesn’t matter how he feels. His anger towards the institute doesn’t matter, for making him, for making his life a living lie, his past false. His feelings don't matter anymore.

Those blue eyes haunt him even now, how they looked at him with adoration and affection just hours ago. And because of those blue eyes, he must find the courage to take his own life.

His limbs don’t work properly when he stands, moving to the still functional terminal at the dust-covered desk. He pulls the holotape from his pocket, his data holotape, and put in into the holotape drive.

A deep breathe, taken into his very core, settle his frayed nerves.

There is no rattle, no quake to his voice as he speaks, “ As the minutes tick by and I stare at the walls of this godforsaken place, I'm still trying to cope with the reality that I am a living lie. My identity as Paladin Danse is nothing but a memory now. I've spent far too long wondering why this happened to me, but the truth is, it doesn't matter.

“I am a synth... which means I am a freak of nature, a perversion of science and an example of where mankind has gone wrong. For the benefit of humanity, for the Brotherhood and Arthur, I need to die. Not because I'm cowardly or despondent, but because it's the human thing to do. The right thing. Everything I hold dear, everything I've ever believed in must be protected.

“Arthur, if you are listening to this, I am sorry. This sacrifice is for you, for the future of the Brotherhood. Allowing me to exist would threaten everything you’ve strived to accomplish and knowing I alone could compromise that, tear it all apart...I simply cannot allow it. I love you and I hope you can forgive me.

“This is Danse, former Sentinel of the Brotherhood of Steel, signing off.”

The tape is left on the table, next to his holotags. The finality of his existence is sobering, despite the alcohol racing through his system. Righteous Authority, never more appropriately named, her muzzle pressed to his chin. Cold, hard, unforgiving, resolute in his decision.

The safety is off.

His finger is on the trigger.

A tremble starts in his limbs that he cannot quell, his heart pounds so strongly there is little outside the sound of blood rushing through his ears. He feels the streaks of tears cutting though the grime on his face.

He hesitates but he mustn’t.

For Arthur.

For the Brotherhood, his finger tightens.

“Ad Victoriam.”

A whisper followed by his name, a ghost of Arthur shouting as his body becomes hard and heavy, hitting the floor with such force any air in his lungs is gone.

There is no ghost but the real man pins him to the ground. Righteous Authority knocked away.

“Arthur, I have to do this…” he croaks through the lump that had formed in his throat.

“No,” Danse can feel himself tense at the words, stunned by the look of pain behind the Elder’s eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Danse, what the hell!”

Theo. The other voice is Theo. He can see him standing by the elevator with Alice clutching his arm.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Not a word,” Arthur whispers, orders, tightening his grip on Danse’s wrists before releasing and moving to stand.

He offer’s Danse a hand which he refuses to take.

“I’m a synth, Theo,” he states, starring Arthur in the eyes, those steel blue eyes he loves.

He expected to see anger reflected back at him, but instead, the Elder closes them. Wordless, and Danse knows, pained. He can feel that pain in his own core.

“What?” Theo asks, his eyes widening with shock and disbelief.

“I’m a synth, Theo.”

Theo’s expression darkens, his brows creasing as his eyes darken with loathing, “You lied, to the whole fucking Brotherhood? To him? To Arthur? YOU LIED?!”

“I know.” Danse doesn’t meet his eyes, “I came here to make things right.”

If he plays this right he may die a traitor but Arthur will be absolved. Theo can’t take his eyes off him, his gaze burning into Danse, a look that can only be one of pure hatred and disgust on his face. He stands and turns to Theo.

“I trusted you. I…” Theo trails off, slinging off his laser rifle from his shoulder, “I should kill you right now.”

“Theo, NO! Stop!” Alice cries, grabbing hold of Theo’s arm.

“Paladin if you harm that man, steel help you…” Arthur’s threat breaks his silence and he places himself between Theo and Danse.

“He’s a synth, Elder, an abomination, those are your words! He lied to us all!”

“Danse didn’t lie. I did,” the Elder confesses, “Danse was completely unaware of his identity so I had Alice swap Danse’s data on the holotape.”

Danse tried to reach for Arthur, “Elder, no...”

“You...How dare you betray the Brotherhood!” Theo barks, the crazed look returning to his eyes.

“Theo, please, put down the gun,” Alice pleads, “Think about what you are doing.”

“That _thing_ has altered him, Alice!”

“Theo, I did not come to this decision lightly,” Arthur speaks calmly, “but unlike the other synths within our ranks, Danse was not reporting back to the Institute. He was innocent in his betrayal.”

“It doesn't change what it is. Danse is a synth!”

“Theo’s  right, Arthur. My very existence is a danger and an affront to the Brotherhood, to you,” Danse says solemnly.

Arthur looks at him, his blue eyes burning, his tone has a harsh edge, “I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

That look of pain in Arthur's eyes will haunt him eternally.

The Elder turns back to Theo, “I read and reread all the documents, ran the blood test three times, issued the very order to confine Danse until his trial.

“I even tried to convince myself he needed to die, but when I look at him I see a man whose shed his own blood for his brothers and sisters, mourned the death of his friends and comrades when they fell, whose passion and dedication for the Brotherhood has driven me to better myself.”

“You….you’re emotionally compromised by it!” Theo accuses, a crazed look upon his face.

Alice steps closer to her brother, placing herself between Danse and Theo, “Listen to me, do you remember when Daniel Wu was arrested for treason, just because his parents were Chinese, just because of his origins? Dad and Roger stuck by his side until they found him innocent. They did that because he knew Daniel was loyal and he was a good man, that it didn't matter if he was Chinese-American. They fought the army for him, Theo.”

“That’s different!” Theo’s eyes dart from his sister to Danse, to the Elder, “He’s a mockery, wrong… Nate… he looks just like him. What if they...”

Alice moves to her brother, pressing gently on his gun to get Theo to lower his weapon and his walls.

“They didn’t make him look like Nate,” her voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks to him, “ and killing Danse won’t bring back Nate. You’ll hate yourself for doing it.”

Theo breaks, his gun falling to the floor as he dissolves against his sister, his hands gripping her shoulders too tightly. Alice soothes him through her own tears.

Danse can feel his own courage waning, his head buzzing with alcohol and adrenaline. Arthur walks to him, his hands by his sides and a scowl on his face. Even though Danse is a few inches taller than Arthur, he feels small as the Elder glares at him, feels the hair on his neck prickle.

“I’m a synth, Arthur…” he croaks.

“I know. I came to tell you that night we came together again...I thought I had more time.”

His tone is low and body rigid, an age of him well past his years.

“Danse,” he says lowly, “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Danse could hear the pain in the Elder’s voice, the crack in his resolute decorum. There is no reply, just the silent opening and closing of Danse’s mouth until he is unable to look Arthur in the eyes.

“You have a great many people that care very deeply for you, people who helped me come to the decision I made. My only regret was hiding the truth from you.”

Arthur’s hand is on his chin, the gentle pressure making Danse meet his sky blue eyes.

“I don’t know who I am, Arthur,” he says, defeated.

And Arthur reaches for him, weaving his fingertips between Danse’s, “You’re the man who taught me how to shoot straight and survive the Capital Wasteland, who introduced me to Latin, who knows enough about T-60 power armor that my Engineering Proctor turns to him when stumped. I know you’re the same man I’ve known my whole life.”

Warmth surrounds his hands, Danse is oblivious to the Elder’s grip as he listens to his words, his voice honey and whiskey, smooth and comforting. His chest feels impossibly tight.  

“Arthur…”

“Above all else, you are proof I was wrong, that synths are not technology got awry. You have free will, dedication… I can’t pretend to understand what you’re feeling Danse, but if you let me, we can get through this together. I love you.”

“I’m sorry,” Danse mutters, his voice cracking as he chokes back tears, “I love you, too.”

Arthur pulls Danse towards him, wrapping his arms around him tightly causing Danse to melt into his love as Arthur whispers in his ear, “Together, Danse.”

He isn't sure if the wetness on his face is from his tears or Arthur's.

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Wow, I am glad I re-wrote this and I hope you enjoyed. How will this all end now? Maybe a happy ending? 
> 
> And again, I proofread this a few times but I'm so tired that I keep finding mistakes, so sorry about that.


	13. Chapter 13

Waiting in their shared room makes minutes feel like hours until the Elder returns. Arthur alone is the one who can rectify this latest obstacle in his life. The paper in his hand felt heavier than a Gatling laser, three words standing out against all the others: _Mandatory Medical Leave_.

On top of being suspended from active duty, Danse was required to undergo weekly mental health assessments, to be poked and prodded. Cade had taken away his weapon, his pride, and restricted his access to the cage. To Danse, the restrictions were an embarrassment.

Theo had not spoken to him since the bunker, trepidation creeping into his thoughts. Danse still didn’t wholly believe he was safe to be around and had sequestered himself in the Elder’s quarters. He was a synth, after all, unknowing of how much power the Institute had over him.

Other thoughts weighed heavily. The fate of the Commonwealth hung in the balance and the Brotherhood was ready for war and Danse was to take no part in it. There would be no rallying cry, no call to arms, no charging into the fray. Dreams of fighting at Arthur’s side vanished as he crumpled the paper in his hands and threw it across the room.

A soft click of the door echoes in the silence. Before the young man can even close his door, Danse is crossing the room, “Arthur, you need to talk to Dominic. The restrictions he put in place are ridiculous. Tell Dominic I’m not a threat to myself and the assault on the Institute in days! As a Sentinel, I need to a part of the battle.”

The expression that passes over Arthur’s face is unmoving, his mouth a drawn line “I’ve officially removed myself from the matter, Danse. At this point Dominic’s orders are absolute.”

“What do you mean ‘removed yourself’?” the Sentinel asks crossly.

The Elder brushes again him as he moves towards his liquor cabinet and pours himself a finger of whiskey. He downs it in one gulp, sighing as he puts his glass down on the cabinet and runs a hand through his hair.

“I instructed Knight Captain Cade that his assessment of your mental health and treatment protocol were absolute and I was not to influence or alter his recommendations in any way.”

Their eyes don’t meet, or more so, Arthur’s do not meet Danse’s. He is rendered speechless by the fact that Arthur seems to have done this behind his back. Angry, but more so, hurt.

“It’s true, I was ready to take my life in the bunker. I needed to keep you and the Brotherhood safe,” Danse begins, trying to suppress the irritation he can feel seeping into his tone, “These restrictions are too stringent for the battle to come.”

Another finger of whiskey is poured and disappears, “You’ll be needed here to organize squads and the wounded. You’ll have a purpose as we need all hands on deck.”

“Arthur…”

The Elder still refuses to meet his gaze. In the few days that had passed since the incident at the bunker, Arthur had been avoiding Danse outright. Working late and leaving early while Danse was required to endure Cade’s scrutiny. Doubt ebbs in Danse’s mind, a thought that there was more to the avoidance then preparation and work.

“Arthur,” Danse’s voice is firm, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, the young man does.

“Do you regret…letting me live?”

There is a flash of something in Arthur’s eyes before he speaks, “Never ask me that question again.”

Danse can feel himself frown as his heart clenches, “That wasn’t a no...”

And Arthur is on him before another word leaves him, pinning Danse to the wall with an arm across his chest and a hand on his throat. The grip is tight, but only strong enough to hold him in place. An animal stares at him with icy, bloodshot eyes, driven wild.

“Never,” the words leave Arthur like a growl, “I will never regret my choice.”

His hands move to his face as he holds Danse’s gaze, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to discover someone you care about was trying to kill himself?”

He’s suffocating, not from lack of air, but because he does. He knows. As plain as the blood on his hands as they find Arthur’s own face.

_Cutler._

A fire burns behind those pale blue eyes, he shakes with each word “I did that, Danse. Me. Were you trying to kill yourself for my good? For me? What have I done?”

His warmth leaves suddenly and Arthur is raking his hand through his hair, tugging at his crown as he paces. Worse yet, Arthur isn’t wrong. The realization strikes Danse like a hammer to an anvil. In his rush to protect Arthur and the Brotherhood he had not thought of the lasting implications he death would have meant. 

“Have I instilled such blind loyalty that my soldiers feel there are no other options for themselves than to take their lives into their own hands? Who are we protecting if not ourselves?” he continues, moving to his cabinet and pouring another drink.

“And Theo, for steel’s sake, Danse, he would have shot you and called it duty and I would have rewarded him,” he downs the brown liquor, “A ‘ _Good work, soldier_.’”

There is a hollow laugh that leaves his throat as Danse walks over to him. His back is to Danse as he shrugs off his coat and lets it fall to the floor.

“Arthur…”

And the Elder turns at his name, wordless as he lunges for Danse and once again grabs hold of his flight suit but this time to kiss him. More than kiss him, devour him. His teeth gnash against Danse’s lips as he pulls them together, too close as Danse still has so much to say but no words or room to formulate them. He can taste the whiskey on his tongue before he pushes Arthur away.

“Get a hold of yourself, Arthur,” Danse demands, gripping his shoulders tightly.

“What have I done?” the young man asks as he dips his head, looking aged beyond his years.

A twenty-two-year-old should not bear as many emotional scars as Arthur does. No one should, but this is the world they must endure.

“You’ve lead us to greatness and victory, Elder, and done so much where so many others and failed and fallen,” he loosens his grip, “Maybe...maybe it’s time we stop asking what we have done and instead ask where do we go from here?”

Arthur’s bloodshot eyes meet his, “I can’t do this alone, Danse. I remember everything, every consequence of my action is my burden, and I accept them willingly. But you...this...losing you. I need you by my side.”

“I’m still here,” Danse says as he pulls Arthur to him.

This war and every war past take their toll on the survivors, from the highest Elder to the lowest squire, and Danse knows the price. Paid not only in blood but with the soul, even one forged of steel.

“I’m scared of what I am. What if there are copies or...I don’t know...” he begins, “What if…I stole someone's life or killed another...”

Danse is silenced by a kiss as Arthur once more steals the words from his mouth, quickly and passionately.

“There is only one you. There was never another. I poured over the data, I had to know it was you,” Arthur says as he brings his arms around Danse, “You’re as unique as I am. I don’t care that you’re a synth.”

“Arthur, you believing in me, that alone is fuel for my spirit and in turn, I will do anything for you. You know that.”

“I know,” Arthur tightens his grip as Danse leans in for a tentative kiss.

Heat builds in his core as Arthur tried vainly to close any remaining space between them. He can feel the younger man’s eagerness pressed against his thigh, see his breathing has become heavier. Danse knows Arthur, know this is his way of seeking release from tension. He mutters please into his mouth until Danse breaks away panting. Arthur’s eyes are dark, drawing him in like a siren's cry.

His hands skim over Danse’s suit following the curves of his form, the light touch making him shiver as he pulls his lover closer. They continue to kiss heatedly, mashing their noses and lips together, before Danse pushes Arthur to their bed. Sprawled, Danse begins trailing kisses down his lover’s neck, finding his pulse and marking him. His hands find the Elder’s clasp, unzipping and pushing the clothing away as he follows the trail of hair leading to his navel with his lips. Finally, his black suit and boxers are stripped away and the Elder lays bare.

_Beautiful. Perfect. My Adonis._

Danse steps back for a moment to remove his own suit, watching as Arthur pleads, his body awake and his eyes dark with lust. Descending once more into a heated kiss, they cling to one another, hand sliding over skin that has become damp with sweat.  Arthur gropes helplessly at Danse’s shoulders while the Sentinel kisses every scar, every inch of his lover’s body. The salt and steel of Arthur's skin an intoxicating perfume that has Danse addicted. 

Arthur's hips buck fruitlessly, grinding against nothing until Danse presses his body against Arthur which draws a moan, their breath quickens as kisses become drunken. The Elder begs, pleads, to be touched, to be taken, and as Danse runs his hand over the hard length in his pants he smiles mischievously as he hooks his thumbs his waistband, freeing himself from the offending garment. Danse presses his chest to Arthur’s as he prepares him, making the younger man arch off the bed, breathe out his name, a sound he forever longs for.

“Danse…”

Danse carefully sheaths himself in Arthur, wrapping his arms around him and locking them together before they begin to undulate. Their lovemaking is a luxury neither has, but Danse knows Arthur needs this release. Danse presses their foreheads together, Arthur’s fists in his hair, tugging at the roots in that perfect balance of pleasure and pain.

Danse is captivated by lusty blue eyes, swirling ocean and steel. His pace becomes feverish as Arthur fights to hold his gaze open, his mouth parted as gasping, the room echoing their tale of passion.

“I love you, Danse, I love you. I love you!”

With those words, Danse is pushed over the edge, spilling himself into Arthur as his love comes between them with a hoarse shout. Arthur holds them together, his legs still entwined behind Danse’s back as they still. The Prydwen hums around them as they lay for a moment and take in each other’s comfort in silence and tranquility.

“Once the Institute is defeated you’ll be free, Danse,” Arthur mutters into Danse’s neck.

“Are you scared?”

“I do not fear the Institute,” he says, their eyes meeting, brown to blue, “My only fear is losing you.”

A solemn nod is all Danse can muster. In time, they will both be free.

*******

The last of the Brotherhood vertibirds begin their return to the airport, grey shapes against a pale blue sky, returning the remaining living and the honorablly departed. Radio chatter over the past hours confirmed deaths, dozens of his brothers and sisters to return home in boxes. 

A flash of lightning pulls Danse from his idle pacing and worried thoughts. One, then another, revealing Theo and Arthur.

“Get it done, Paladin,” Arthur instructs sharply before coming to stand next to his Sentinel.

The soldier nods, walking over to the detonator, and like a judge's gavel, Theo’s hand smashes down on the button. Without hesitation.

There is an infinitesimal, eerie silence before the inevitable boom. Danse wonders if it looks the same now as it did 200 years ago. There is a strange romance in watching an entire world burn beneath them. None’s gaze can linger for long as the encroaching heat barrels towards them like a dying dragon attempting to burn one last victim. Except the attack falls short, an exasperated breath that should have been incinerating fire, and the victors are left waiting for its ash and shattered bone to settle.

Just like that, the Institute is no more. Atop the Mass Fusion building, the Brotherhood of Steel stands victorious, the cheers from the squad ring through the afternoon air.

Danse is overwhelmed by a strange relief, a sense of freedom.

He turns to Arthur, a fresh gash across his nose that sends a surge of adrenaline through his body.

“A new victory scar to soothe with a kiss later,” Arthur smiles.

A surge of pride grows in his chest, the Elder smiling lopsidedly at his Sentinel as soldiers embrace and holler around them.

“Ad Victoriam, Elder,” Danse smiles.

“Ad Victoriam.”

Arthur reaches up and grabs the handles of his Sentinel’s power armor, dragging him down into a heated kiss. Any other time Danse would have been embarrassed, a display all too public, but the adrenaline and high from their defeat of the Institute has him parting his lips and his tongue tasting Arthur. Both are breathless when they finally break apart and move to shake hands with the other soldiers present.

One stands apart from the others, Theo’s hand is still resting next to the detonator, his eyes cast towards the smoking, newly formed crater. His expression is blank and he doesn't register Danse’s approach.

“Ad Victoriam, Paladin.”

Theo slowly rejoins the world, “I killed him. Shaun.”

Danse’s brow creases, “You said the Institute killed him?”

Theo pulls out a cigarette and places it between his lips, “Come now, Sentinel, we all have our secrets.”

A telling look crosses his face as he lights his cigarette, _I promised to keep your identity quiet._

After a drag of his cigarette and slow exhale, he speaks again, “He was a full grown man, an old man, the leader of the Institute, looked like my dad. Shaun was obsessed with his legacy, with synths, using them for everything and treating them worse than slaves. He wanted me to join them, bring Alice there. I couldn't do it Danse...their science was wrong, their morals, and he orchestrated it all! I killed him and they kicked me out of the Institute.”

He pauses a moment, blinking a few times.

“I lied to Alice, said they killed him. To you. The lie made me angry. I almost killed one of my only friends because I was mad at Shaun and his legacy. I thought... what would Nate have done? He would have told me to see it through to the end. He was a better person than I was...he...”

Danse nods as Theo takes another long, slow drag of his cigarette and shakes his head.

Theo continues, “I set them free, Alice begged me to. Nate would have done that. He always gave people a chance. They deserved a second chance, hell, any chance after being cooped up down there. People will accept them. What’s done is done.”

The Sentinel was about to retort, chastise Theo for making a critical error and allowing so many dangerous synths and scientists free but when he opens his mouth he remembers he’s one of them, a synth, a second chance, and that he is as much a threat as any other being.

 

They both stare over the ruins of Boston, watching the crater smoke a little less with each minute that passes. The Paladin takes one last drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt over the edge of the building and turning to the Sentinel.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

Danse nods after a moment.

Theo smirks at him, clapping his hand to Danse’s upper arm plate, “Let’s go celebrate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this clusterfuck has come to an end. I hope it was satisfactory. *takes a long drag of a cigarette* It's done.
> 
> Have questions? Shoot me a message or leave me a comment. I'd love any feedback.


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